


Angel's Wild

by LimonadeGaby, riseofthefallenone



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Wing Kink, Wingfic, top and bottom!Cas, top and bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 52
Words: 389,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LimonadeGaby/pseuds/LimonadeGaby, https://archiveofourown.org/users/riseofthefallenone/pseuds/riseofthefallenone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting <em>Angels</em>.</p><p>Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, <em>protectors</em> of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?</p><p>That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.</p><p>Written by: riseofthefallenone<br/>Artist and co-author: limonadegaby</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hunting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaboration between myself and Mari, the wonderfully talented [seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com/). One of her WIPS was just so _inspiring_ that this whole little verse spawned from my encouraging her to draw it and our brainstorming over little things.  
> 
> I have a habit of doing a slow build to a physical relationship, so don't expect any gratification on that front any time soon.

Three weeks.

It’s been three weeks of mosquitoes, blinding sunshine, pouring rain, and silence. Dean doesn’t mind that last one so much because he can fill that easy enough with his cassette tapes. But the boredom is starting to reach critical levels. His sensors haven’t picked up anything more than local wildlife and it’s not a damn deer that he’s wasting away in a trailer for. There’s only so many times he can clean his guns; take apart, polish, and put back together the harpoons for his devana; rewatch his Star Trek DVDs on the tiny, shitty TV; and jerk off to his Busty Asian Beauties magazines before everything just gets _old_.

Dean’s in bumfuck nowhere. A good ten miles outside of some National Park in Idaho– and not the good ‘outside’. He’s in the complete opposite direction of all things civilization. Which loosely translates to there being no chance of getting any sort of internet connection. His pockets aren’t nearly deep enough to afford one of those fancy ‘internet everywhere’ satellite sticks Bobby always talks about. All the funds he gets from pool sharking goes to gas for his baby, food for his belly, and a motel room - when he’s not borrowing the couch in Bobby’s living room.

Dean’s got his satellite phone so he can check in with Bobby once a week. He kinda hates that he didn’t find the signs and figure out the location all on his own. But it feels good knowing that even his old man is acting off a tip from Bobby too. They’d gotten the phone call a month ago, that Bobby’s network had come up with two possible targets; one down south toward Louisiana (getting pretty close to Benny’s hunting grounds) and one in southern Idaho, up in the Rockies.

It’s where Dean drove his baby as far as the roads would let him while hauling Bobby’s damn near ancient aluminum can he calls a trailer. If he hadn’t practically grown up under Bobby’s careful eye, Dean probably would have had to actually rent the fucking thing from him. At least it has a functioning AC, a heater for the colder nights, an honest to God _bathroom_ – which is far too close to the little kitchen for his liking – and one of those tables that he has to convert into a bed if he wants to sleep. Which he doesn’t even bother with because all his equipment is set up on that. Instead he just takes the cushions off the benches, spreads them out on the floor and unrolls his sleeping bag on them.

So, in the end, it’s all thanks to Bobby that he’s out here. If it wasn’t for him, Dean probably wouldn’t have found out about this secluded ass end of the mountains. He might have figured it out eventually – but if Bobby hadn’t given John the two tips, Dean wouldn’t be out on his first solo hunt. Jesus, the waiting never seemed _this_ boring when he hunted with his dad.

It would help if he could manage to get some sleep most nights. Even after three weeks he’s still too wired to really sleep. What if one of the sensors goes off and he snores right through it? If he doesn’t get to the grove fast, the trap could kill his prey before he can – or worse, it might escape. Dean suppresses a shiver. That grove had been freaky as fuck and at least eighty-nine percent of that ‘freaky’ is because of the trees.

There is a well-used animal trail going through that copse, heading up from the lake and further into the mountains. It would be just like his quarry to use a game trial to hide their signs. And going through that creepy grove helps hide their presence too, even though they apparently haven’t just kept to the grove. Those weird ass trees spread out in a pretty obvious line through the woods. The trees are twisted. Terrifying in a way that any superstitious redneck who managed to wander out this far would probably turn tail and run from, only to go home and spread rumours of some kind of haunted forest – which would keep even more people away.

And that’s just another sneaky trick.

But it’s not one that’s going to fool Dean. He knows that those trees were fucking _grown_ like that. Grown to have clawed branches, bent like grabbing hands with broken, warped trunks that somehow almost make them look _alive_. And they weren’t carved to look like that. It’s not even something that could be carved by Humans, let alone something that actually happens normally in nature.

But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting _Angels_.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, _protectors_ of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be. At least the Angels in the Bible aren’t hateful, jealous sons of bitches with the only goal in life to be the eradication of the Human race. And, of fucking course, it’s the creatures with the shitty notions of world domination that get the super powers. Specifically speaking, the ticking time bombs got the power to control – of all things – _nature_.

Typhoons, tornadoes, tsunamis, earthquakes, and volcanoes – whatever you name, you can bet damn good money that Angels are the ones behind it. The fuckers basically live to mess up everything that Humans have going. Oh, your culture is thriving? Let’s sink your island into the sea. (Yes, he is basically ninety-nine percent sure that is _exactly_ what happened to Atlantis.)

The whole reason that he’s out here is because, according to Bobby’s tip, all the signs point to ‘yes’. There’s at least one Angel in these woods. Local legends going back a good hundred years or more claim that a spirit walks these woods; healing animals, growing plants and flowers that normally don’t take root in this part of America – let alone this part of the _world_ – and ‘purifying’ (whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean) the lakes and rivers in the area. The locals (and Dean uses that term _very loosely_ ) don’t bother the ‘forest spirit’. They stay the hell away from this place, and who could really blame them with those creepy fucking trees.

But all these signs point to Angels.

Dean has no idea how many of them are out there, but they don’t seem to be spreading their good cheer much farther past that line of fucked up trees and those lakes and rivers. Rather than press on into foreign territory without knowing how many enemies might be lying in wait, Dean has done what he does best. He’s put out traps just like he always did for his dad. There’s one glaring difference between this time and all of those. This time he isn’t just trapping them, wearing them down for John to get in the last hit. This is going to be the first time that he gets to finish an Angel off himself.

His traps are centered on that grove, but he’s spread them up the path and out through the woods in all directions. There are nets, bear traps, spring loaded harpoons, and about a half dozen other things – most of which Dean made himself. Not that John ever used them, or complimented him about them or anything – but hey, he’s not bitter. Bobby’s taken a few of the prototypes that worked out well enough and he’s made more, shared them with other hunters. That’s pretty flattering, actually.

Each of his traps has a built in sensor and they’re all radio-waved straight into the three laptops he’s got hooked up on the table and eating away at their batteries. Thank God he’s got a solar powered charger to keep everything charged. He’s got a few extra canisters of gas stored for the generator whenever he needs to cook, or take a shower, or whatever the hell else this rusty can needs for it to run. It only kicks in whenever he uses something that needs it.

More than once some poor sap of an animal has set off one of the traps. Dean doesn’t like killing animals unnecessarily and thankfully he hasn’t needed to. Most of his traps are designed to incapacitate instead of kill. It’s kind of hunter code to take down an Angel yourself.

To be honest, it’s the part he’s least looking forward to.

The Angels he and John have taken down before were known Human haters. But these ones? Dean doesn’t know. There’s nothing _bad_ about them that he’s heard, and no news reports in the area have mentioned anything about Humans dying in any ways that weren’t natural or weather related – beyond that whole ‘got lost in the woods’ gambit. Not even Bobby’s research said anything bad about them. And that doesn’t sit well with Dean.

Maybe that’s why he’s having trouble sleeping.

Dean turns over, bumping his knee on the cabinet under the sink. Fucking tiny spaces. He’s too big for this tin can. He misses sleeping in a normal bed and having Sam within pillow-throwing range. It’s been a few months since he spoke to him and it’s bugging him. Dean always tries to make the effort to talk to him at least once a month. Before he got this job, there had been something about exams that Sam was too busy with and Dean had been on a pretty tough hunt with John – not that Sam even wants to talk when John is around.

Those two haven’t spoken to each other in over three years. Not since Sam announced he doesn’t believe in hunting Angels and that he wants to go to law school instead. And to top it all off - to piss John off even more - Sam said he was going to law school for _Angel Rights_. Jesus, the fight that came out of that little declaration still makes Dean’s stomach twist and his chest gets tight.

The fight, Angel Rights, and basically everything having to do with what Dean does are topics that he and Sam try to avoid at all costs. Any mention of either usually results in a screaming match that threatens to blow out the speakers on both their phones. It doesn’t matter that Sam was a baby when their mom died. So what if he didn’t know her like John and Dean did. Mary was still his mom and Sam should still want to get back at the fuckers who took her from them.

His alarm clock is blinking too-fucking-early o’clock and he maybe dozed a couple hours worth of sleep  throughout the night. It’s too early in spring for the sun to be more than peaking over the horizon, but with the mountains and trees, he’ll be lucky if he sees anything for another hour. There had still been a bit of snow on the ground when Dean had come up here, but it cleared up a week and a half ago. Though there’s still that crisp spring-cold at night. If he’s going to be out here much longer, he’s going to need to get another blanket on his next venture to the nearest town.

His provisions last about two weeks before he has to make a trip to the closest convenience store. It’s a helluva drive and takes the better part of a day to get there and back. He usually spends the entire trip paranoid out of his mind that an Angel is going to set off one of the traps and Dean will end up missing them entirely.

Luckily, he’s got about another week to go before he has to make that trip again. As for now, he might as well get up, fry some bacon and eggs, toast some bread and spend another eighteen hours bored out of his goddamn mind. Maybe he’ll make a stop at a bookstore, get some Vonnegut or Bukowski. Pick up one he hasn’t read in a while. Either way, he needs something more than spank bank material. You can only read so many of the articles in Busty Asian Beauties before you’re sick of basically everything to do with them.

Maybe he’ll make a weekend out of it - damn the traps for the time being - and find a pool hall. He can line his pockets and maybe find a little tail for the evening. It’s been weeks since he’s gotten his game on and Not-So-Mini-Dean has an itch that needs scratching.

He groans and pulls his pillow over his head. That’s the last thing he needs to think about right now. Lack of sleep doesn’t at all help any form of morning wood - which he hasn’t had in too long and he’s starting to think something might be wrong downstairs. Jesus, he needs to get out and stretch his legs, see some people, do _something_. Dean may not be a social butterfly, but even he can’t stand being alone for three weeks straight.

Dean crawls out of bed backwards, the blanket going over his head as he drags himself to his knees and groans loudly – like there’s anyone around to care – as he gets to his feet. He shuffles to the bathroom for his morning ritual - minus teeth brushing because he sure as hell isn’t eating anything after making his mouth taste all minty fresh. That is reserved for after breakfast. And if he decides to brave cooking bacon shirtless, it’s because he’s a manly man and he likes the thrill. But mostly it’s because the trailer is pretty toasty and he should turn the damn heater off and just tough out the chill with a sweater and socks.

Any thoughts of breakfast go out the damn window right around the time Dean is pulling on his jeans. He falls over, cracking his elbow on the little shit contraption that passes for a stove. Dean barely notices the shot of pain up his arm because one of those fucking laptops is going _insane_. And that means one thing and one thing only.

One of the traps has been set off.


	2. The Angel of Thursday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weird little laugh, breathy and unbelieving, escapes him. He caught one. He actually fucking _caught_ one – or more than one, who knows. And he should really probably stop wasting time hanging around here. It’s nearly a thirty minute hike to the grove and he needs to get on the move before they get their wits about them. The net is weighted enough to really knock someone for a loop when it gets dropped on their head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter art is, once again, done by the delightful [seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com). The co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild".
> 
> We're tentatively looking at Fridays for chapter updates. And that's running on my Friday time (which generally extends well past midnight - apologies).
> 
> [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear), [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592)

Dean doesn’t even bother with his shirt at first. He slides onto the pillow-less bench, ass be damned, and settles in front of the laptop that’s beeping its shit all over the place. His fingers fumble trying to hit the right key sequence to pull up the window of the tripped detector. It’s flashing little lights all over the screen and Dean shuts those off because yes, okay, thank you, he already knows which one to look at.

“Son of a bitch…” Dean mutters under his breath.

It’s not just any trap detectors going off, it’s the goddamn _granddaddy_ of all traps. The one that takes two fucking hours to set up AND requires special sensors that are perfectly in tune to an Angel’s body heat. Those were expensive as hell to make and he doesn’t even want to talk about how hard it was to get a heat reading off an Angel to calibrate the damn things. And they only work with a pressure canon he has rigged with a net.

He set that up on the grove, tied up in the branches of a tree. The heat sensors were further up the path, rigged to track the heat source and go off right when an Angel was in canon range. Best of all the canon keeps the net soaking in oil (also not cheap to come by and Dean usually keeps his fingers crossed that Angels set off a drop net or one of the non-lethal bear traps before they set off this fucker). The oil gets on their wings and makes it hard – if not impossible – for them to fly. It makes them easier to kill.

Sometimes Dean can hardly believe this is actually his life.

A weird little laugh, breathy and unbelieving, escapes him. He caught one. He actually fucking _caught_ one – or more than one, who knows. And he should really probably stop wasting time hanging around here. It’s nearly a thirty minute hike to the grove and he needs to get on the move before they get their wits about them. The net is weighted enough to really knock someone for a loop when it gets dropped on their head.

If the Angel – or Angels – escapes, Dean is screwed. They’ll know he’s here (if they don’t already know that someone is ‘camping’ nearby) and if they don’t find and destroy all his traps, they might hunt his ass down in turn. It’s why hunting in pairs is usually preferred – at least that way someone can always be watching the traps. If it wasn’t – jesus what date is it even? He knows it’s a Thursday, but beyond that… not a clue. Dean checks his watch and the little flipping dates on it. April frikken eighteenth. Lovely.  It’s cold as balls out at night and if it wasn’t for that, and if his dad was here, John would probably have had Dean sleeping in a goddamn tree to keep an eye on the traps.

Within five minutes, Dean is dressed and out the swinging tin can door. There’s a bowie knife strapped to his ankle and tucked in his boot like the army knife he’s got in his pocket and the lockback in a sheath on his belt. His favourite semi-automatic Colt 1911 is in the shoulder holster under his leather jacket and there’s a glock snug in a thigh holster on his right leg.  The devana – his one-of-a-kind pride and joy – is secured to his left arm, the hand-grip digging into his palm. It leaves his right hand free for his other weapons. His sleeve is unzipped straight to his elbow and folded back into place to make room for it.

The cuff that covers most of his forearm, securing the devana in place, is quickly warming up with every step Dean takes. His heart is hammering in his chest – excitement, nervousness, maybe even a little fear finding homes behind his ribs. It’s a little sickening and a lot awesome. Dean keeps fidgeting with the devana’s strap just short of his elbow that’s attached to the cuff. His duffle bag is heavy and maybe he shouldn’t have brought along so much stuff, but he doesn’t want to be caught with his pants down – and he really doesn’t know how many Angels he’s going to be facing.

He’s carrying spare harpoons for the devana, enough ammo to last him a good few rounds with each gun – including the shotgun he’s got packed snug in his duffle, and his handheld crossbow as a last resort. The duffle is easier to carry if he puts it on his back, and he can run if he straps it around his waist and chest. The aluminum mace weighs it down a helluva lot and he would have preferred not to bring it. If Dean believed in any kind of God, he’d be praying that he won’t have to use it.

It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy a good afternoon in the batting cages like any red blooded American. But there’s something entirely different between smacking a few baseballs with a wooden bat and purposefully swinging a metal club to break somebody’s bones. Specifically the bones in wings – Angel wings. Those are always the first things that you have to take out when you’re fighting an Angel. They’re _dangerous_.

Either the Angel can fly away, or they’ll use their wings in a fight. For as fragile as the hollow bones are, they’ve got muscles out the wazoo under those feathers. One hit could knock a grown man – Dean, as a prime example – right on his ass. They’ll leave a nasty bruise and if he’s not on his feet then Dean can’t stop them from flying away.

This is his first solo hunt and everything John thinks of him is riding on it. If Dean doesn’t walk away from this with his first set of wings, he’s going to be a bigger disappointment to John than he already is. That’s the only reason he’s twenty-six and never killed an Angel himself. When it all boils down to it, John doesn’t trust him to get the job done. It took Bobby tearing him a new one to even convince John to let Dean take this case alone. 

Dean checks his watch again.

It’s pushing past twenty minutes since the trap was tripped. He’s been stomping through the underbrush for a little under fifteen and he’s got another fifteen to go if he keeps at this pace. Which means he needs to pick it the hell up or he’s going to risk losing the Angel – if any friends haven't fucked things over already and helped them out. Far as Dean knows – since he left the trailer – none of the other traps were tripped. There’s a heavy chance the Angel he’s heading for is completely on its own.

Dean keeps flexing his fingers and he has to fight not to squeeze the grip of the devana. The firing button is situated right there in the center of it and he doesn’t want to accidentally launch a harpoon into the fucking ground. He doesn’t have a whole lot of them to waste and the breakaway casing to fire the internal spikes isn’t cheap. Plus it takes forever to rewind the Kevlar cord that keeps those spikes attached to the main body of the harpoon.

The cord isn’t too expensive, but it’s a pain in the ass to rewind and he always runs the risk of damaging the casing and the harpoon tip if he doesn’t take care with where he aims it. And he can’t just order those parts on E-bay. He makes them himself out behind Bobby’s house.

For someone who moonlights as a mechanic-cum-junkyard owner when he isn’t running the hunting network, Bobby sure does have some weird shit. Although, considering he owns a junk yard, it’s not that big a leap for him to have a metalworking shop. If it wasn’t for Bobby showing him how to work with metals when he and Sammy were kids and John needed a place to dump them when he went hunting, there’s every chance that Dean’s devana wouldn’t exist right now. And she’s almost as precious to him as the impala.

Jesus, but now isn’t the time to be thinking about his weapons. He knows those inside and out – hell, he’s had enough time to disassemble and reassemble them a thousand times over in the last few weeks. What he needs to think about now is how this is going to happen. He needs to go over the step by step approach to taking down his first Angel. If it’s still trapped, even if its feathers are covered in oil, he needs to take out the wings first. If it’s gone – he needs to get the fuck out of there. He can always come back for the traps later, or not at all. They can be rebuilt – he can’t.

Dean sprints in small bursts. Despite his so called ‘profession’, he’s not actually in the best of shape. Sam rags on him at least once every phone call about his diet. Burgers and pie, too many fried foods. It’s not like living on the road gives Dean much of a chance to have a proper home cooked meal. The best he gets is a few free dinners every month or so from The Roadhouse – and damn those are good. He could really go for one of Ellen’s chicken pot pies right now.

He didn’t even get any breakfast before this. That’s probably something else that John would chew his head off for – hunting on an empty stomach. Yeah, that sounds like something that Dean would get shit for. He checks his watch again, though this time it has nothing to do with how close he is and all about how long it’s been since the trap went off.

The terrain looks familiar – duh, it damn well should be. Dean’s memorized the route from the trailer to here with all the times that he’s walked out to make sure everything’s still in place, still working. Or the few times the more basic traps – the one’s he didn’t make himself, the ones that John will use because Dean’s designs aren’t ‘traditional’ – were set off by animals. He’s had to cover his tracks each and every single time, but he’s gotten good at that. He knows to stand downwind and not to wear any man-made scent bullshit. And that’s the story behind why Dean Winchester wears odorless deodorant.

Dean hears the scuffling before he sees it and he stops dead in his tracks. All it takes is undoing two buckles and his duffle practically falls off his back. He lets it fall to his left arm and carries it like that as he drops into a crouch. He keeps to the brush, checking where he puts his foot down because hell if he’s going to fuck this up by stepping on a goddamn twig.

He hits the edge of the clearing and takes up his position behind the bush he’d pegged as his hiding spot the moment he first cased the perimeter. Dean slips the duffle’s strap around his shoulder and unzips his bag, pulling it open wide enough that everything inside is within reach. Before he even thinks of pulling out another weapon, he needs to see what he’s dealing with. 

Using the point of the devana’s harpoon, Dean moves one of the branches and his heart nearly jack knifes right out of his chest. There’s an Angel, alright – fur wrap, feathers and all. Judging by the severe lack of boobs, Dean’s going to safely assume that this one is a dude.  And he’s half out from under the heavy net, struggling and flapping oily wings to try and shake it off from the one wing it’s still hooked over. The ground is splattered in black and Dean doesn’t fail to notice how everything is a helluva lot more _green_ around here then it is where his baby and the tin can he’s living in are parked.

The Angel is covered in weird markings that don’t make a lick of sense to Dean, or anyone else for that matter – even the people who study Angels only have haphazard guesses about what they mean. You could study them your whole damn life and learn as much about them as you would something… something really fucking obscure. If they aren’t wreaking havoc on the weather and messing up Human lives, then they’re busy being intensely private and ignoring that the rest of the world exists.

Angels share barely anything about their culture. Dean doesn’t know of a single Human who has actually seen more than a handful of Angel’s in one place, let alone a nesting grounds. Even with satellites and all the fancy gizmos they’ve got in this day and age, nobody can find where Angels build their homes for their clans or whatever the fuck you want to call them. That’s how big the knowledge gap is – Dean doesn’t even know what to call half the things about them.

Few Angels ever get captured alive. Even fewer live long enough to tell you anything. They clam up and shut down. If they don’t kill themselves to keep the rest of their clan safe, then they starve to death since they refuse to eat anything you give them. John tried to interrogate an Angel once. As far as Dean knows, she didn’t say a word for a week straight.

Dean was barely out of his tweens back then and Bobby had refused to let him out of the house to see what he and John were doing in the shed out back. But sometimes the lights flickered and Dean had to tell Sam it was just a power surge - but Dean knew. Of course he knew. They were torturing her. He never once heard her scream.

Bobby was the one who put her out of her misery. John had been so pissed off that he’d kept Dean and Sam away for half a year. He had been so _certain_ that he’d be able to find out from that Angel where the ones who killed Mary were. But no matter how many Human-hating Angels John’s exterminated over the years, none of them ever gave him the answer he wants – and that’s why he’s still hunting.  

The satellite phone is in the outside pocket of his duffle. Even when it’s not touching him, it’s weighing heavily on Dean. He forgot to call Bobby and tell him about the sensors. And he sure as hell didn’t tell John. His dad is going to want him to keep this one alive. He’s going to want Dean to interrogate him and get any and all information out of him.

Thing is… Dean’s not sure if he can.

He’s seen John kill dozens of Angels over the years. Each of them fought tooth and nail for their lives right up until the bitter end. If they ever did say anything, it was never words that anyone could understand. Sam told him the Angels speak a language called ‘Enochian’. It’s something old and archaic, and if Humans ever knew it then they’ve long forgotten it. Dean’s not even sure he’s ever heard an Angel speak English.

This Angel is muttering under his breath. Sharp, harsh syllables as he strains to spread his wing under the net. He’s trying to flatten it so the net slides right off, but the cords are tangled around the longer feathers. The oil is making the feathers mat together, clumping and getting caught in the net. He just needs to untangle those and then he’s free and Dean should really be doing something soon.

It doesn’t look like there’s any other Angels around. Dean’s been crouching here long enough for his thighs to start burning – and no one else has shown up yet. This dude isn’t even trying to call for help. He’s just being grumpy by himself and occasionally glancing around. He doesn’t even look all that worried – and why would he? It’s been over half an hour since a big ass net dropped on his head and nobody’s showed up yet.

Because they – that being Dean Winchester – are too much of a frikken coward. But what the hell is he supposed to do? The Angel is kneeling in the dirt and working his feathers out from between the net. His other wing is half soaked with oil and folded against his back. There’s a red mark on his forehead, so he either looked up and got the net in the head, or he bumped it when he went down. Either way, he’s still pretty upright and mobile. Which means he’s more than capable of using whatever powers he’s got.

This calls for distance. The spray from a shotgun could take out his wings, but it could also kill him. Which yeah, okay, that’s totally Dean’s main goal here. Except he can’t do it without at least _trying_ to interrogate him. If he doesn’t ask some sort of questions, John’s going to have his hide. Dean can try lying, he can try saying that he did ask, but sometimes his dad seems… part psychic. He’s going to _know_. And if Dean’s caught lying, fuck – he might as well give up on life and become a hermit in these mountains. Though John would probably be able to find him anyways.

A heavy thud draws his attention back to focus. The Angel is standing, stretching his wings out and forward. His nose crinkles in disgust at the oil coating his feathers and he looks up at the trees. Specifically he looks straight at the canon where it’s hidden between branches and behind leaves. Dean doesn’t move, he barely breathes, when the Angel raises a hand and waves it. The leaves shiver and there’s a rustling sound like the wind – but there is none – before the trees groan and the branches _bend_. They shift out of the way and reveal the canon.

Okay. Well. His powers have something to do with plants. That’s helpful to know. It’d be shit for him if he had to face down an Angel with the power to control _plants_ in the middle of a forest – oh _wait_. Goddammit, Dean _knew_ he should have taken the southern job. He could probably have hooked up with Benny and hung out for a few days, they could have maybe even hunted together. That would defeat the purpose of his first solo hunt but it’s been ages since he saw Benny last.

The Angel is looking around the grove again, narrowed eyes stopping every so often. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s looking at every single trap. Dean lowers the devana, lets the bush slide back into place as slowly as he can so he doesn’t draw attention to it. He hunches down more and slips his hand into his duffle bag, fingers curling around another harpoon.

The devana's harpoons are designed to break apart when it gets close to the target and pierce the wings or pin the Angel. As long as one of the pegs doesn’t hit something vital, it’s not lethal and it’s the only thing Dean has that’s not going to kill him. It’ll hurt like a bitch, though. But Dean’s aim is pretty damn decent. He should be able to take the Angel down without killing him – yet.

That’s still not something he’s really looking forward to. If he knew that this guy had actually killed Humans before, if Dean knew that he was one of the bad ones, he’d be all for it. And that’s been bugging him the whole time he’s been waiting. If anything, he’s heard nothing but _good_ about the ‘forest spirit’ and that’s probably this guy right here.

Son of a bitch.

This is just his luck. Dean gets the one Angel in all of North America who isn’t out to bathe in Human blood. He’s never had to deal with an _innocent_ before. It’s always been known killers, _always_. And if he calls up John – hell, even if he calls up Bobby – he knows what either of them are going say. They’ll tell him to do it. They’ll tell him not to risk leaving a loose end that could turn out like all the others who see Humans as a goddamn disease.

Dean nearly has a heart attack when purple flowers flare to life on the bush he’s crouched behind. They look kind of familiar, like those cattail reeds that grow at the edges of water only this is made of little purple flowers. He knows he’s probably seen these flowers before, but Dean doesn’t have a goddamn clue what they are. And they’re not restricted to the shrub either. He parts the branches again, just slightly, and he can see them springing up all around the clearing. They’re spiraling out from where the Angel is standing and he's currently facing the other side of the clearing.

If he’s going to fire a harpoon, now would be the time to do it. Dean shifts, pushing the harpoon’s end through the bush and taking careful aim through the scope. He barely moves at all, barely makes a fucking _sound_. But the Angel still spins around, dropping into a near crouch and lowering his center of gravity. His palm hits the ground and when he raises it there’s a tree twisting out of the grass and dirt.

It sprouts faster than any tree Dean’s ever seen, curling out of the ground under his hand until it gets smooth and straight. But it’s backwards. The part the Angel is wrapping his hand around is thick and it narrows, gets pointed where it disappears into the dirt. And then he’s pulling it free. The whole thing took only a few seconds. There are no roots and he holds it in a way Dean is all too familiar with.

It’s a goddamn weapon.

The Angel’s wings flare as wide as they’ll go and if it wasn’t for the oil clumping the feathers together, he’d probably look pretty damn intimidating. Especially because his expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t look disgusted anymore, but his eyes are still narrowed in a hard glare. They’re calculating. ‘Forest spirit’ or not, this Angel is a _warrior._

Dean fires. His arm jerks with the force of the spring. The Angel drops lower, almost belly to the ground, and the harpoon ends up buried in a tree, spikes deployed and a few hanging free. He’s on his feet and sliding another harpoon into the track before the thud even echoes back to him. Even the Angel is quick on his feet, but he’s not doing anything that Dean expected.

He’s taken off across the clearing, heading for the path toward the lake. His wings spread and the Angel jumps. Like a goddamn ninja he bounces from a tree as if it was a stepping stone. Despite the oil, his wings start flapping, keeping him aloft enough to grab a branch and haul himself up higher, up where the foliage hides him.

“Goddammit!” Dean chases, lifting his arm again and not even bothering with the scope this time.

He’s  basically firing blind into the trees and Dean’s hand goes for the gun strapped to his thigh as he heads down that path. There’s a surprised – pained – cry somewhere above his head and Dean skids to a stop when a bundle of blue-black, brown, and tan crashes down not too far ahead of him.

The cords are stretched to maximum, caught in the branches  hanging over the path. Two of the spikes are buried in the muscle and sinew of the Angel’s right wing. He hisses while he’s getting to his knees, the right wing hanging limp next to his back. One wing down, one to go. The other can’t fold normally because of the spike pierced through it. The final spike is halfway through his right forearm and blood is soaking into the dirt under his hand.

Dean gets the mace from his bag before dropping the duffle to the ground. He has to take out that other wing – just in case. Maybe he should knock him out completely, drag his half-naked ass back to the trailer to get him away from plant life and then he can interrogate him in the not-quite-comfort of his current ‘home’.

He circles and the Angel looks up. The only sign that he’s in pain is that his forehead is creased slightly. His eyes widen when they see Dean’s mace and the one wing that isn’t a broken mess of feathers flares out. The Angel doesn’t even wince when the movement pulls at the spike going through that wing. Dean hefts the mace up a little higher and the Angel’s eyes slide to his own mini tree sword laying just a few feet out of reach.

The Angel sits back on his knees and stifles another hiss, shifting to keep his weight off of one leg. There’s bruising already blooming around his left ankle and there’s scrapes and bruises littering everywhere else.  He keeps his right arm held out from his body and sighs softly. The Angel looks to his sword again before waving his hand and it just up and _dissolves_ into the ground. Dean sucks in a breath and reflexively tightens his hold on the mace. If the Angel tries anything, he’s going to swing and he won’t be picky with where he’s aiming.

“We can do this one of two ways.” Dean starts, using his weapon to gesture between them. “I have questions. The quicker you answer them, the less you’ll suffer. Got me?”

That doesn’t even get him a twitch. The Angel just stares up at him, head slightly cocked to the side. Dean grits his teeth and gestures again. “The longer you draw this out, the more it’s going to hurt. I want to know who the Angels were that set a storm of tornadoes on Lawrence, Kansas on –” A lump rises in his throat and Dean chokes out the date of his mom’s death.

There’s a slight reaction to that. The Angel’s head tilts just a little more and a line folds between his eyebrows. It’s confusion. Christ on a goddamn cracker – don’t tell him the Angel doesn’t fucking understand English. Great. Fucking _great_. How the hell is he supposed to get answers out of someone who doesn’t even speak the same freaking language?

If that’s the case, then he might as well just finish the job now. There’s no need to beat around the bush and torture the guy. Dean mutters a string of swears under his breath and draws his colt out from inside his jacket. This was the part he was least – and most – looking forward to.

The Angel’s eyes flicker to the gun and then they slide closed. He dips his head and sighs again, hands fisting at his sides.  Dean thumbs the safety off and pulls the hammer back. If John asks, Dean can say he tried. He won’t be lying and John can’t get mad at him for a communication barrier. The Angel lives up here in these woods – alone, apparently. It’s not a far cry to think that he hasn’t had much, if any, Human contact.

He holds the gun out, sighting along his arm for a clean headshot and damn near has another heart attack when the Angel looks up suddenly. He’s got unnerving as fuck blue eyes and Dean feels something twist in his chest at the unwavering resignation in them.

“I’m ready. Do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Lavender: distrust


	3. Responsibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of course it’s _his_ first hunt that goes like this. He’s heard stories about other people’s first hunts and not a single one of them got an English speaking Angel who just fucking _gave up_ in the middle of a fight. Especially Angels with powers that could just vine-choke him or something. At least Dean was lucky enough that he didn’t get a Darth Vadar-esque asshole. One who could control _air_ or something. That would have been about a billion times worse than this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love and worship that amazing that is [seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) and her wonderfully beautiful art. She's the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her.
> 
> All fault for lateness lies with me. Mari went super human and got the artwork done ahead of schedule when we both thought we were going to be super late - but life got in my way and I couldn't get the chapter written any sooner. Apologies.
> 
> [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear), [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592)

Maybe he needs to clean the wax out of his ears or something because wow, that really sounded a helluva lot like _English_ right there. English spoken in a voice deep enough to rival his own and no, he is _not_ going to let his thoughts go off in any direction that doesn’t end with him killing the Angel. Dean lowers his gun and he’d probably drop the devana too if she wasn’t strapped to his arm.

“Sorry, what?”

“Wasn’t I clear enough?” The Angel tilts his head, forehead creasing. He glances down at the gun pointedly. “You’re a hunter and you’re here to kill me. So kill me.”

Is he still sleeping? He’s gotta be. That’s the only reason he could be hearing actual _words_ coming out of an Angel’s mouth. And he really wishes the Angel had kept his mouth shut. If there was a language barrier he could have gotten out of having to torture the poor guy. Son of a _bitch_.

“If you know English why the hell didn’t you answer me before?”

“I don’t know the answer to your first question.”

Oh good. No torture then - at least, not yet. Not as long as he can keep the Angel talking. “Is that a thing with you Angels? You don’t talk if you don’t know the answer?”

The Angel only raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that. Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“I can’t speak for the dead.”

Dean stops and now he’s the confused one. “What d’you mean ‘the dead’?”

The Angel just starts looking irritated. Like he’s actually annoyed that Dean hasn’t killed him yet. “I assumed you asked because of the silence you have likely received from the others you’ve killed.”

Oh, yeah that would explain that just fine. Dean scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand. Now he just feels awkward.

Of course it’s _his_ first hunt that goes like this. He’s heard stories about other people’s first hunts and not a single one of them got an English speaking Angel who just fucking _gave up_ in the middle of a fight. Especially Angels with powers that could just vine-choke him or something. At least Dean was lucky enough that he didn’t get a Darth Vadar-esque asshole. One who could control _air_ or something. That would have been about a billion times worse than this.

Speaking of. “How come you’re not trying to kill me with trees?” Another head tilt. Jesus, does this guy even _do_ anything else? Dean gestures around them at the forest. “You control plants right? I saw you move the branches and you grew a goddamn sword out of the ground. I’ve never seen an Angel just give up without a fight. So what the hell is wrong with you?”

The Angel holds up his right arm and winces when he tries moving his broken wing. His arm looks funny, sticking out slightly on both sides like something is pushing against his skin from the inside. “I’m in pain and using my abilities requires a level of concentration that I don’t currently have.”

Something twists in his stomach and Dean is a little confused about why he feels _bad_ about that. He’s only doing his job. He shouldn’t feel… what is that even? Regret? Guilt? Christ. It’s a damn good thing John isn’t here to see this. Dean would never hear the end of it. And he’ll sure as hell be leaving this out of his so called ‘report’ when he talks to Bobby – and, God forbid, John.

But there’s something itching at his brain. “How come you ran? I’ve never seen an Angel run before.”

He presses his lips together and his left wing twitches, probably trying to spread out, but instead it just ends up flicking blood and oil from the feathers. “Stop dragging this on. If you’re going to kill me, then _kill me_.”

Dean shoves his gun back in the holster and gestures at the Angel. He’s going to ignore how the movement is sharp, angry. “Why are you in such a hurry to die?”

“I’m not. But I don’t enjoy being toyed with.”

“I’m not… _toying_ with you.” Dean grumbles, pulling the lockback from the sheath on his belt and flipping it open. The Angel’s eyes immediately drop to it and his expression gets tighter, eyes narrowing. “You speak English. You ran. You didn’t try and kill me even though you’re the one with the advantage. So I’ve got one last question for you and you’re going to give me a straight answer. Got it?”

The Angel doesn’t say anything but the look he gives him doesn’t leave Dean feeling very hopeful. He asks anyway. “Have you ever killed a Human?”

A new edge lines the Angel’s expression. Dean would almost go as far as saying that he actually looks surprised. Before he slides back into looking impassive, Dean thinks he sees something sad cross his face. Not that it’s easy to tell what emotions are on display. He’s one of the most stone-faced Angels Dean’s ever seen. “No, I haven’t.”

Dean feels a little skeptic about that. “You telling the truth?”

“What good would lying do me right now?” The Angel doesn’t take his eyes off the knife. “You’re the first Human I’ve had contact with in decades.”

Wow, decades? But the guy doesn’t look any older than Dean. That’s saying something about Angels and their lifespan for sure. He’s going to have to keep that little tidbit locked away to tell Sammy about later. For now, he’s going to – he’s going to – shit, he’s going to do something severely stupid. Something that John would tan his hide for doing.

The Angel’s good wing flutters again when Dean steps closer and he leans back a fraction, like he _wants_ to get away and he’s forcing himself to stay in place. But then he tilts his head back and Dean knows the Angel probably thinks that he’s going to go for the throat – which is what he _should_ do. But it just doesn’t sit right with him, killing an innocent. Let alone killing someone who’s actually doing _good_ with his powers.

“I got another question for you.” Dean crouches in front of him, just far enough away that if the Angel makes a grab at him, Dean can throw himself back out of reach.

“Please, spare me.”

“Are you the ‘Forest Spirit’ that the locals talk about?” He gestures at the angel and the forest around them with the knife. “The same one that comes down from the mountains to fix their crops when the seasons are bad?”

The Angel’s forehead crinkles again, confusion mixed with surprise. He doesn’t look like he knows how he’s supposed to react to that. “I wasn’t aware they referred to me as a ‘spirit’.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean hangs his head and runs a hand through his hair. “Just my goddamn luck. Why the hell did you have to be _nice_?”

“Should I apologize?”

Dean scowls at him and stands. The Angel immediately tilts his head back again and that irks him. As bad a name as Angels have with Humans, hunters probably don’t give themselves that great of a reputation among Angels either. But that doesn’t explain why this Angel isn’t fighting, why he’s just giving up. And it doesn’t look like he’s going to get an answer out of him anytime soon on that front.

“Don’t move.”

He steps forward, reaching for the Angel’s one good wing. The moment he touches the feathers, it spreads wide and the Angel sucks in a sharp breath. He jerks away from the touch so violently he falls over, hissing in pain when he lands on his side. Dean watches, a little surprised, as the Angel pushes himself back up slowly, wincing the whole time when he has to put weight on the arm that has a goddamn _harpoon_ through it.

“I told you not to move.” Dean kneels in front of him again and he’s only slightly distracted by the little pink flowers that grow by the Angel’s hand, budding and unfurling quicker than any flower has any right doing. “Are you going to listen this time?”

“Don’t take my wings before you kill me.” The Angel looks up at him. He’s speaking through clenched teeth but Dean can see the panic in his eyes. “Kill me first.”

“Take your –? Dude, are you fucking kidding me? I’m not cutting your goddamn wings off.” The entire idea is disgusting and it’s one of the few ‘hunting rituals’ that Dean enthusiastically disagrees with. Dean undoes the strap by his elbow and slides the devana off his arm. He sets her aside slowly, reverently, before turning back to the Angel. “And I’m not going to kill you anymore, so you can just calm the fuck down. Now, I repeat – and I cannot stress this enough – _don’t move_.”

The Angel’s wing flinches under his hand, but he doesn’t move beyond that. He’s looking up at Dean, forehead creased with confusion again. He watches closely as Dean feels along the shifting feathers, finding where the harpoon’s spike is pierced through the meat, just shy of the bone. Dean doesn’t need the knife for this one, so he holds that between his teeth.

He doesn’t give any sort of warning before yanking the harpoon out and backing away quickly. The Angel’s wing flares, splattering blood and oil across the dirt. It folds more naturally against his back now, but now the Angel is outright glaring at him, his lips pressed into a tight line.

“What?” Dean licks his lips after he takes the knife from his mouth and moves around to the Angel’s other side. “It’s my dad who’s hazy on the ‘innocent versus guilty’ front when it comes to killing you Angels. And as much as I hate disappointing him, I’m not going to kill you when you haven’t done anything wrong.”

The Angel doesn’t say anything, but he keeps up the glare while Dean checks the harpoons in the broken wing. Neither of those need to be cut away either (and he thanks the almighty makers of pie for that because he doesn’t want to ruin anymore of the Kevlar cord than he has to). He doesn’t say anything before pulling these out either, hoping he hasn’t fucked up the bone that one of them cracked in half. Dean doesn’t do them immediately one after the other. If the Angel tenses the muscles, it’ll hurt worse and cause more damage – not that you can get much worse than a broken wing.

“Sorry.” Dean mumbles around the knife as he tosses the spikes away. They hang limply from where the main body of the harpoon is still caught in the branches above the path. He sticks the lockback blade first into the ground by his boot. “I’ve got a first aid kit in my bag. If you don’t run off as soon as I’ve got you out of these things, I’ll at least be able to fix you up too.”

“Why are you doing this?” The Angel sits up properly, leaving his left leg stretched out in front of him.

Not that he’s going to say it, but the answer is mostly crippling guilt. He attacked the Angel without finding out if he’s actually done anything bad. Hell, he’d known the Angel had done at least some _good_ and he’d still – Jesus, he’d still attacked and he should have done more research, he shouldn’t have just spent weeks sitting alone in his damn trailer jerking off to porn magazines and watching Star Trek.

“I just told you, didn’t I? I don’t kill innocents.”

“But all you have is my word to go by.”

“Yeah, but you also didn’t fight back. That earns you my special intensive care treatment.” Dean kneels at his side but the Angel leans away, holding his arm closer to his chest. “You held that ‘swee’ like you –”

The Angel snorts. “What is a ‘swee’?”

“That sword-tree thing that you grew out of the ground. Now let me see your arm.”

“It is still a sword.” He hesitates, looking from his arm to Dean and back.

“But ‘sword’ doesn’t sound as cool as ‘swee’.” Dean waits until the Angel his arm out slowly. He looks it over but doesn’t touch. “It was either that or ‘trword’.”

“A ‘swee’ doesn’t sound ‘cool’ at all.”

Jesus, he’s got a goddamn banter going with him. Dean shakes his head and stands up, heading to his bag to get the first aid kit tucked into one end. The Angel hasn’t moved from the spot when he comes back. Seriously, does he have no preservation instincts or something? Granted, he probably wouldn’t have been able to get very far with that ankle. Dean’s not sure if it’s broken or sprained. He’ll have to check it after he’s done with the Angel’s arm. But at least the Angel could have pulled the harpoon from himself and attempted to make a break for it.

“The bones are dislocated at the wrist.” The Angel mumbles, watching him while Dean opens the kit and pulls out what he needs – gauze, bandages, tape, needle and thread; the works.  He keeps talking while Dean threads the needle. “Your weapon went between the radius and ulna, forcing them out of the joint. They don’t feel broken, but they will need to be popped back into place.”

“That’s going to hurt like a bitch.” Dean sits closer, putting the items he needs in his lap for quick access. “As I was saying before – you held your _sword_ like you knew what you were doing with it. You ran, but you could have stayed and fought me.”

The Angel’s face gets pinched and tight when Dean touches his arm. “I probably would have won.”

“Seeing as you’ve got the entire damn forest at your command, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” Dean holds the Angel’s elbow with one hand and grips the harpoon with the other. The tip is pointed but the end before the cord has stabilizers sticking out of it. “This isn’t going to be pleasant and I’m going to need to stitch these up quickly, okay? Sorry, I don’t have any anesthetic.”

The Angel sighs and closes his eyes. “Just do it.”

Dean gives him props when the Angel doesn’t make a sound as he yanks the spike out. His good wing does twitch. He hisses when Dean holds his hand, pressing his palm to one side of his wrist. The Angel’s eyes close again and he makes a quiet noise in his throat at the first snap of the bone being pushed back into place.

“One down, one to go.”

He tries really hard not to think about how he’s the one who did this, that it’s all his fault. Dean _knows_ it is and fixing the Angel up doesn’t nearly make up for this massive mistake. He’d been too gung ho, too fucking desperate to make John proud that he didn’t stop and _think_. If the Angel doesn’t kill him the moment he’s got his concentration back, Dean will be very surprised.

The second bone pops into place just as easily as the first . It’s about the same amount of fun as fixing a dislocated shoulder. Dean uses a couple of those stupid tongue depressors – who actually even uses those things? – as makeshift splints to keep the Angel from moving his wrist. He wraps a stretch of bandage around those, cutting it from the roll with his lockback before taping it in place.

The Angel takes a piece of the gauze from Dean’s lap – like that’s not crossing a million personal space lines – and holds it to the underside of his forearm to stem the bleeding. Dean glances up once and then he starts stitching. It’s messy and bloody and it probably hurts like a bitch but all the Angel does is make a fist and grit his teeth.

“Stop worrying about whether or not it hurts me and just finish this.” He mumbles and Dean has one brief moment where he thinks that the Angel can actually read his thoughts. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been wounded.”

“You are, by far, the chattiest Angel I’ve ever met.” Dean ties off the stitch and uses his knife to cut the thread. The Angel immediately turns his arm over and Dean gets started on stitching that side too. “All the others just shouted at us in Enochian a few times if we tried asking them anything. I’ve never heard one of you speak English before.”

The Angel doesn’t say anything, but he’s looking at Dean again with a tilt to his head. He’s squinting, but that could easily be the sun in his eyes. It’s definitely risen over the mountain now, light peeking through the trees and highlighted the black and red the Angel is leaving all over the dirt and grass.

“What? I point that out and you suddenly clam up?”

Still nothing. And that makes Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably. Did he say something wrong again? Bobby tells him, repeatedly, that he has a nasty habit of being an insensitive asshole at the worst of times.

The Angel doesn’t speak again until Dean starts wrapping gauze and bandages around the stitches and tapes it all in place.

“How many of my kind have you killed?”

Dean shuffles around to check out the Angel’s ankle. “Me, personally? None. You were going to be my first. But I’ve been watching my dad off you guys since my early teens.”

He gently probes the bruising around the  ankle to see if it’s a sprain or a fracture or whatever. Dean’s trying really hard to focus on the injury and not think about how he’s practically feeling up an Angel. It’s a damn good thing that he didn’t get hurt any higher up his leg. Like it isn’t awkward enough that the Angel is wearing a fur skirt – long on the right side and short enough on the left that a good chunk of thigh is showing. It’s probably styled like that so he can show off the six stacked lines, curving down and back up like weird smiles, inked onto his skin.

“It’s not broken.” The Angel sits forward, cradling his arm to his chest again. “It’s a mild sprain at best. I landed on it when I fell.”

“Well, I don’t have any ice to stop it from swelling, but I can wrap it to keep it down a little bit, at least, and immobilize it so you don’t make it worse.” Dean pulls the kit closer and rummages through, finding the rolled tenser bandage he’s only had to use a few times for his wrist.

Since he doesn’t get a complaint and the Angel just keeps watching him, Dean lifts his leg into his lap and starts wrapping. He’s had to wrap plenty of sprained ankles when Sammy was growing up – the kid was like a goddamn monkey sometimes – so it’s nothing too hard. It’s a quick job, wrapping from the ball of his foot to the base of his calf and keeping it loose enough that it doesn’t cut off circulation.

Dean starts packing up the rest of the stuff. “Sorry about your wing, but I don’t know how to deal with that and I don’t know if it’s that great of an idea to splint it, or bandage it, or whatever the hell you do with it while it’s still covered in oil.” Dean pauses and looks up again. “I should probably apologize for that too.”

The Angel keeps _staring_ at him. Dean shifts uncomfortably, glancing down at the kit in his lap and at his lockback. He flips it shut and buckles the knife back into the sheath on his belt. When he looks up again, the Angel is still staring and he hasn’t even moved. His expression is practically unreadable and Dean is starting to feel really awkward.

“Well –” Dean coughs and stands. “You should call some friends or something to come get you and help you back home, if you can. Do you have some weird shout or whatever to be heard over long distances? Like a wolf howl or something?”

His mouth twists and Dean’s not sure if it’s amusement at his example or not. “There’s no one to call.” The Angel gets his good leg under him and starts to attempt to stand.

Dean reacts out of habit and what few good manners John and Bobby have beaten into his head over the years. He grabs the Angel by his good arm and helps to haul him to his feet. They both looked surprised by the action and Dean steps back quickly, leaving the Angel to teeter with most of his weight on one foot. His broken wing is hanging uselessly in a mass of feathers down his back and his arm is still held to his chest.

“I got a sling for that if you want it.” Dean gestures lightly, willing to say anything to keep that awkward silence and staring from settling in again.

“If you feel it necessary.”

Yes, Dean deems it entirely necessary. He has to do something to make up for breaking the guy’s wing and all the other shit he’s putting him through. And to top it all off, the Angel is _alone_. Which means he’s going to be limping through a forest with God knows how many predators in it while he’s bleeding from the wings because Dean’s never done a patch job on something he’s spent his whole life training to kill.

That’s just _awesome._ And this is now, officially, the weirdest day of his life.

He gets the fold of fabric from the first aid kit and ties the ends together. Dean actually has to help put it over the Angel’s head and that gets him up pretty close and personal with him. The awkward level ratchets up another several degrees. It would be a lot easier if the damn Angel wasn’t doing that frowning-squinty face at him while he’s trying to make sure that when he puts his arm in it, the sling sits around his neck and cups his elbow properly. 

“Since I feel a hundred percent responsible for fucking up the rest of your month, I gotta ask –” Dean steps back again and looks him over. “Are you going to be okay?”

The Angel shrugs and winces when the motion jostles his wings. “Within a fortnight everything but my wing should be properly healed. Breaks are much harder for me to fix, but it shouldn’t be much longer than that.”

“Sorry, what?”

He presses his lips together again and Dean just shakes his head at it. Angels and their fucking secrets. He’s damn lucky he got as much information out of him as he already did. Maybe that might be enough to tide John over when Dean comes back with nothing to prove that he carried out the job. And that just makes Dean think about how his dad is going to react to finding out that Dean found an Angel that talks instead of screams, and speaks in English no less.

“You shouldn’t stay here.” Dean says, picking up the first aid kit and going back to his bag. “As soon as I tell dad about how I fucked up this mission, he’s going to come after your ass. Even if you don’t know what happened in Lawrence, you’re an Angel that speaks English and he’s going to want to talk to you – and trust me, you’re not going to enjoy what he calls ‘talking’.”

“We all speak English.”

Dean looks up sharply. “What?”

“Components of every language that Humans speak can be found in Enochian. It’s the base language of the world.” The Angel looks at him once with something that almost resembles pity before he starts to limp away down the path. “What you Humans chose to include in your history costs you so much of the truth of things.”

He’s left speechless and Dean watches him stagger away slowly, barely able to put any pressure on his left foot before he almost has to hop forward on his right. Dean slings his bag over his shoulder and across his chest. He gets the devana and straps her back on his arm. For now he’s going to leave the harpoon hanging in the tree. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.

The Angel nearly falls over, flinching away in surprise when Dean steps up next to him. He doesn’t give him a chance to object. Dean pulls his good arm over his shoulder and wraps an around his waist, having to push it carefully under his wings. The good wing flaps against Dean’s back slightly and he just _knows_ it’s getting blood and oil all over his leather jacket. It’s a small price to pay for this monumental fuckup.

“Don’t say a word.” He mutters, taking the Angel’s weight when he steps forward in place of his left foot. “I’m the one who messed you up, Angel, so I’m responsible for you.”

“No, you’re really not.”

“Yeah, I really am. If I leave your ass here, you’re going to get eaten by rabid mooses or something.”

“The plural of moose is ‘moose’, they don’t eat meat, and there are no sick animals in my forest. I make sure of it.”

“And I’m pretty sure I told you not to say anything.” Dean tries really hard to ignore that deadpan, blue-eyed stare. “Now, are we heading to your home or something?”

“You just told me not to say anything.”

He can feel a frustration headache coming on and he gives the Angel a pointed look.

“No, we are not heading to my home. I’m not going to show you where I live.” The Angel looks back steadily and it’s really starting to creep him out. “I am going to the lake so I can wash my wings clean.”

Dean glances over his shoulder at the mass of blue-black feathers arcing up behind him. “You’re going to need more than just water to get that shit off. I’ve got some dish soap back in my trailer. I’ll go back and get it once we get to the lake. I’ve seen them on TV using that stuff to clean birds off when there’s an oil spill or something.”

There’s a pause and hesitation in the Angel’s step. “Are you suggesting that you’re going to help me clean my wings?” If anything, he sounds really unhappy about the notion and Dean gets the feeling that there’s some kind of meaning in helping out that he doesn’t know about.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I was getting at. Like I said, I’m responsible. Plus, I’m the one with the soap.” Dean tries to slant a grin at him, but it’s pretty weak and it falls flat. There’s nothing really amusing about this situation and he still feels like shit for beating on a guy who wasn’t doing anything wrong in the first place. “And you probably shouldn’t get any of these bandages wet. I’ve got a couple buckets too, so we don’t have to actually get any oil in your precious lake.”

“I don’t require your assistance.”

They take a few more steps before Dean pulls away sharply. The Angel pinwheels his good arm, wing flaring as he staggers and he almost falls over completely. Dean steps right back into place next to him, taking up his spot and the Angel practically clings to his shoulders to keep from falling.

“Oh yeah, I can see that.”

It earns him another glare and the smug grin fits on his mouth easier than the one he tried to force before. The rest of the path is walked in silence. Right straight to a stretch of beach, and it’s one of the nicest beaches Dean has ever seen, actually. There’s fine sand under his boots and crystal clear waters stretching from one edge of the lake to the other.  There’s a cluster of large rocks to one side and Dean leads the Angel over to them. He slumps down onto the rocks with a soft sigh and a wince.

“You keep your ass right there, y’got me, Angel?” Dean points at him sternly, only feeling slightly like a mother reprimanded her child – and he really wishes he hadn’t thought that. “I’m going to get the soap and the buckets. It’ll take me about an hour for a round trip.”

“It’ll take less than half that time, depending on your speed, if you cut straight through the forest in that direction.” The Angel points without even looking. “There’s no path, but a straight line is always the quickest route.”

Dean is loathe to do it, but he leaves his bag beside the rocks. He’ll be faster without it. He gets halfway across the beach before he stops and turns around. “How the hell do you know where my trailer is?”

The Angel isn’t even looking at him anymore, his eyes focused on the lake. “The forest told me.”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“I can assure you, I’m not. ” The Angel glances at Dean again. “All living things have a voice if you listen hard enough. With my specific abilities, I’m more in tune to the voices of the trees than most.”

And that is some hardcore Pocahontas shit right there. Dean doesn’t even want to touch it. “Right, okay. You’re a special little snowflake, Angel, I get it. You just – uh – commune with nature while I go and get my shit.”

He’s at the tree line when the Angel speaks again. 

“Castiel.”

Dean turns again. “What?”

“My name isn’t ‘Angel’. It’s Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Eglantine rose: a wound to heal


	4. Cleansing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The water is cold, the air is cool. It’s still too early in spring for swimming and now he’s going to spend who knows how long sitting in the shallows combing oil out of an Angel’s wings. By the time he’s finished mixing the soap with the water, Cas isn’t glaring anymore. He’s still watching Dean closely and it’s a little unnerving, but Dean’s cool with it as long as he rationalizes that Cas isn’t plotting his imminent, painful, demise and he’s just being wary because Dean did – after all – attack him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks and love to the wonderful [Mari](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com)! She's the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. Thank you for sharing your ideas and letting me write your amazing AU. ♥
> 
> I might as well start saying that we update Saturdays instead of Fridays for how late I keep being with these. For a heads up - whenever there's new fanart during an update, the link below will have (NEW) written beside it.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592)

By the time Dean gets back to the trailer, he has to stop and _breathe_. He leans against the side of the trailer and takes a few minutes to get himself under control because _holy shit_ he is so not built for long distance running. Or running of any kind for that matter. Dean makes a mental note not to tell this to Sam. There is every chance that Sam might try and force him to eat rabbit food. Hell, he might outlaw bacon cheeseburgers, or – God forbid – _pie_.

It’s barely been ten minutes since he left the Angel at the beach and he’s already back. Looks like the Angel really wasn’t kidding when he’d said that it would take less than half the time to get to the trailer. Dean thumps his head back against the wall, blindly fumbling for the door handle. Right, right, it’s not ‘the Angel’ anymore. He’s got a name. Of course he has a name.

Castiel. _Castiel._

The hell kind of name is that? Well, clearly it’s an Angel name. But it still sounds frikken _weird_. It feels funny on his tongue when he says it and it’s just another secret that he’s going to have to try and find a way to keep from his dad. If John knew that he was taking care of an Angel, let alone knew his fucking _name_ – he’d probably be on the next airplane from Louisiana.

And how could Dean forget how utterly _smooth_ he’d been? That has been pure class right there, firing off a quick ‘nice to meetcha’ and booking it out of there as fast as his boots could carry him. The Ang – _Castiel_ – hadn’t said anything far as he’d heard, not that he’d really stuck around to hear it. Bobby would have clocked him one upside the head for bad manners and not introducing himself right back.

Dean takes a few minutes to catch his breath before he stumbles into the trailer for the worst (and by that he means _easiest)_ scavenger hunt he’s ever had to play. Despite popular opinion, Dean is actually a bit of a neat freak when it comes to places he lives. There’s no garbage on the floor and any dishes in the sink usually get washed within a day. His cupboards are organized and everything has a place for quick and easy access. Such as now.

He doesn’t even need to look to get the bottle of soap from the rack mounted on the inside of the cupboard door under the sink. There’s a bucket there too, a pair of rubber gloves hanging out of it and he grabs that. The bottle and the gloves are shoved into it. From a drawer he gets a handful of plastic bags and those get tucked in next to the soap. Dean leaves the devana on the table with the laptops. He doesn’t need her anymore right now and she’s only going to weigh him down on the way back.

His stomach rumbles and Dean takes a moment to grab a box of assorted granola bars. Half of them are covered in chocolate and he chows those down while he changes into his swim trunks. The rest go into the bucket along with a couple of towels. There’s no way in hell he’s going to spend the rest of the morning wearing damp jeans. The chances of him coming out of this with dry clothes is bordering on nonexistent.

By the time he gets back to the beach, his legs are freezing. To his surprise and extreme annoyance, Castiel has moved. He’s sitting on the beach, one leg crossed under him and the fucked up one sticking out next to him. Everything from Dean’s duffle bag is laid out on the sand in neat little rows.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Castiel doesn’t even look up. “You carry an impressive arsenal. Are these all necessary for murder?”

Dean flinches and throws the bucket down next to him. “No, I just like to be prepared.” That was beaten into his head from an incredibly young age by his Marine Corporal father – who might as well have been a drill sergeant as far as Dean’s concerned. “And it’s not _murder_.”

Now Castiel looks up at him, head tilted and face blank in what Dean is quickly starting to think is his default facial expression. “Than what is it?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Dean glares at that stupid poker face for a few moments until something that feels beyond uncomfortable prickles down his spine. Castiel looks away first, glancing down at all the weapons and ammo lined up in front of him. He picks up the satellite phone and holds it out to Dean.

“This was making noise earlier.”

“Of course it was.” Dean mumbles, taking it from him. It was probably Bobby. He usually calls in the morning every few days. Hell, he’s the _only_ one who calls him. And he’s probably flipping his shit right about now because he missed the call. “You’ve lost more blood than you should and you need to keep your energy up. Have some of those granola bars, and take one of the Advil in the first aid kit for the pain. I’ve gotta go do something, so I’ll be right back.”

Castiel doesn’t even acknowledge him, too focused on checking out the balance of the mace. Dean leaves him there. He hits the speed dial and listens to the ring tone as he walks over to the other side of the beach. Bobby picks up on the second ring.

“Boy, where the hell have you been?”

“And good morning to you too, Bobby.” Dean stands facing the water with one hand in his pocket and his boots sinking into the sand. The beach is off of a little cove on the lake. From the lake, no one would be able to see them. “Don’t tell me someone pissed in your cornflakes again.”

“Don’t play cute with me, Dean. I called you _three_ times and no answer. I was about to call John.”

He winces and glances back up the beach. Castiel is turning the crossbow over in his hand, sighting along his arm as he aims it into the woods. That’s about the moment when Dean realizes his colossal mistake. He left all his weapons with the dude he just _attacked_. If Castiel wanted to take a shot at him right now there’d be nothing stopping him.

“Yeah, sorry. I was busy.”

“With what? Did you catch yourself an Angel?”

Dean licks his lips – a nervous tick he’s had since forever – and looks down at his feet. “Hah, I wish. I thought I did, but it was a false alarm. A goddamn malfunction in the heat sensors. Most I caught was an unfortunate bird. Speaking of, you got any idea how to get oil out of feathers?”

The silence Bobby gives him is all sorts of discouraging and Dean shuffles uncomfortably. He doesn’t like lying to Bobby. He’s like family to him. Lying to him is like lying to Sammy and that just doesn’t sit well with Dean. It’s not that he likes lying to John either, but John is practically a human lie detector and Dean has yet to get away with any lie he’s ever tried on him. Which is going to make it extremely difficult to tell him about Castiel. He’s going to have to think really carefully about how he’s going to word his answers when they do finally talk.

“Bobby?”

“Hold your horses, boy. I’m looking on the internet.”

Dean snorts and muffles a laugh behind his hand. It’s loud enough to get Castiel’s attention and when he looks up, Dean looks away. He wasn’t exactly staring, but he hadn’t actually looked away yet. “You know how to use the internet? Colour me surprised.”

“If you’re gonna be like that, you could always just put the poor thing out of its misery.”

“I’m an Angel hunter, not a Bambi-killer.”

“Wasn’t that a deer? I thought you said you caught a bird.”

He laughs again and rocks on his heels, looking back to make sure Castiel hasn’t messed up his stuff. Dean nearly overbalances in surprise. Why the hell is he still watching him? It’s creepy. He waves his hand in a kind of ‘fuck off and stop staring’ gesture. Castiel frowns and waves back. Oh God, he doesn’t understand. Dean rolls his eyes and turns his back. Which, again, is fucking _stupid_ considering Cas has the crossbow in his hands. One well aimed bolt to the back and Dean would be down for good.

Dean knows how to speak with his body, both between the sheets and out of them. He knows the subtle nuances of body language and right now he’s shouting loud and clear that he’s trusting Castiel not to take him out. Considering that Dean can count the number of people he trusts in his life on one hand, that’s really saying something.

A little voice in the back of his head whispers that it’s because he’s feeling guilty as fuck for messing with an Angel who wasn’t giving anyone trouble. He glances back every now and then while he listens to Bobby list off the process to clean a bird’s wings. Castiel is slowly tucking all the weapons and ammo back into the bag.

“Hold on a sec, Bobby.” He covers the mouth piece. “Hey, Cas! Leave the rope out!”

Castiel looks up sharply. First he looks surprised and then his forehead folds into confusion and Dean has to fight the urge to laugh again. For a decades old Angel bleeding from both wings with blood smeared on his face and in various places, he looks way too – nope. _No_. Dean is cutting that thought off right now. It is going straight to jail - do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.

He puts the phone to his ear again. “Sorry ‘bout that, keep going.”

“Who were you talking to?”

“The damn bird. It was being a bitch.” Dean watches Cas’s hand hesitate over the bundle of rope that he always keeps in a corner of the bag. You can never have enough rope. Cas leaves it and moves on to the ammo. “What do I do after the bit with the soap?”

“You’re a shit liar, boy.” Bobby sighs and he can hear the irritation in his voice. “I’m not gonna tell John, y’know. I can keep my damn mouth shut.”

Dean looks back at Cas and it’s a relief that he’s not staring at him again but rather out at the lake this time. “It’s just a bird, Bobby. Seriously. I’m bored out of my wits and I’d rather try and save it if I can.”

He knows the disappointed tone the moment Bobby starts talking again and his stomach twists, feeling like it’s folding in on itself. Dean hates disappointing Bobby about as much as he hates disappointing John. But he just can’t tell Bobby right now. He should, but he’s not going to. Later. He’ll procrastinate telling anyone for as long as he can.

“And that’s that. This website says you’re gonna wanna monitor the feathers for wet spots under them over the next few days. If there is, it means it needs more cleaning and drying.”

Shit.

“Okay, thanks Bobby. That’s all I need right now. Have you heard from dad?”

“Not since he shipped out down South. He’s not due to check in until Monday anyway.”

He stifles a sigh. “Yeah, sounds like dad.” Of course John wouldn’t call up Bobby to see how Dean’s doing. Hell, John doesn’t even call _him_ and he’s his goddamn son – on his first solo hunt no less. “Listen, Bobby, I gotta go and get this bird calmed down. I could call you later?”

“Y’better.”

Dean scuffs the toe of his boot in the sand, looking down and smiling. “I will. Promise.”

“Good. Take care of yourself and don’t let that ‘bird’ push you around too much.”

He starts walking back toward Cas. “You too. Thanks, Bobby. Bye.”

“Okay.” Dean tosses the satellite phone on top of the bag and squats by the bucket. “First thing we’re going to do is cut up that rope and use it to tie these plastic bags over your arm and ankle." He looks at the bucket contents. "Why didn’t you eat the bars like I told you to? Did you take any of the painkillers?”

Cas shakes his head like whatever Dean said is the silliest thing he’s ever heard and points at the granola bars. “I don’t recognize some of those ingredients. I won’t eat things I don’t recognize. The same can be said for your so called ‘medication’.”

“Fair enough, but you need to keep your strength up.” Dean rocks back on his heels, just as surprised to find out that Cas can read as he was to find out he can speak English. “Is there anything around here that you _will_ eat?”

“Nothing that is in season. I’ll be fine. Let’s just get this over with.” He looks meaningfully at the bucket. “I would like to go home and rest soon.”

“Yeah, ‘soon’. I dunno if you’ve seen your wings lately, dude, but they’re fucking massive. I’m going to be cleaning them for hours.” He dumps the contents of the bucket out onto the sand. “And this bucket ain’t gonna cut it. We’re going to need to go out into the lake to clean your wings.”

Cas’s frown deepens. He glances out at the lake again and his good wing twitches. Kudos to him for not even wincing. “I’ll need to purify the lake afterward.”

“I thought you were in too much pain to use your powers?”

“And the pain has lessened since then. By the time I’m done with my wings, I should be well enough to cleanse the waters.”

“You’re not going to be able to do these all on your own, Cas. I fucked you up, I’ll fix you up.” Dean gestures at his wings before sorting through the stuff on the sand.

He pops the top on the soap and puts a generous amount in the bucket. He kicks off his boots and socks, dumps his jacket and flannel, and takes the bucket to the water. Cas doesn’t say anything, but Dean doesn’t miss the narrow eyed glare and he knows exactly what that means. He doesn’t trust Dean and that’s perfectly understandable – still a little hurtful, but completely understandable.

The water is cold, the air is cool. It’s still too early in spring for swimming and now he’s going to spend who knows how long sitting in the shallows combing oil out of an Angel’s wings. By the time he’s finished mixing the soap with the water, Cas isn’t glaring anymore. He’s still watching Dean closely and it’s a little unnerving, but Dean’s cool with it as long as he rationalizes that Cas isn’t plotting his imminent, painful, demise and he’s just being wary because Dean did – after all – attack him.

Dean uses the lockback to cut the rope into manageable pieces, each about the length of his forearm. Cas makes a weird face when Dean covers his left foot with one of the plastic bags. He flexes his toes a few times and winces when Dean ties the bag in place.

“Who were you talking to?”

He looks up from cutting open the bottom of one of the other bags. “On the phone?”

“Yes. You seemed very pleased to be speaking to them. Was it someone that you’re close to?” He asks as he dips his chin to his chest, giving Dean the room to pull the sling over his head.

“That’s not really any of your business is it?” Dean raises his eyebrows. He’s maybe being slightly more gentle than necessary with how he holds Cas’s arm when he pulls it out of the sling.

“It’s not. I was merely curious.” He tilts his head, watching what he’s doing. “You are aware that I can move my arm myself, aren’t you?”

Yes, yes he was. Doesn’t make him any less likely to take care of him since Dean’s the one who did the damage in the first place. He doesn’t say anything while he slips the cut bag over his arm to cover the bandages. Cas winces again when he uses two pieces of rope to tie the ends down.

“Sorry, Cas. But we don’t want any water getting at those. Now let’s get your wings clean so we can set that bone.” Dean stands and helps Cas to his feet.

He  leans away, barely putting any weight on his bad ankle. Dean stops and he’s about to ask why he’s not, y’know, walking with him toward the water so they can get this shit over and done with. His brain decides right then to take a leave of absence and his jaw just kind of freezes. It’s not really doing anything, just hanging around.

Cas is stripping.

Or at least that’s what Dean thinks he’s doing. He’s fumbling one handed at his waist, untying some string hidden in the fur of his skirt-thing. The strips of leather that stretch down his chest from his shoulders, keeping the fur in place, fall away. Cas frowns as one side of the fur skirt falls open, trailing a long strip of leather. There’s another strip of string hanging down his other hip.

“Whoa, wait! You’re not about to be full frontal with me, are you?” Dean grabs his wrist before he can pull open the other side and drag that string through whatever hole in the back of his skirt it’s strung through – at least that’s what Dean thinks is how the outfit is put together. When he was behind Cas earlier, getting the harpoons out of his wings, he had seen that the furs on his shoulder are connected to the skirt by a strip of leather. Another band, connected to the shoulder pieces, goes around his neck.

Cas huffs and tries to shake Dean’s hand off. “Of course not.”

“So you’ve got underwear on under that thing?”

“A qaa.”

“Kwah-ah? What the hell is that?”

“If you would move your hand, I would show you.”

Dean steps back and Cas pulls his skirt open, leaving it hanging down his back from his neck. And maybe Dean stares a little bit. Angel or not, Cas’s flat stomach, slim hips, runner’s legs – they all fall on his ‘I’d hit that’ list. And the line that runs from the bottom of the circle on his chest goes straight down to the edge of – oh Jesus Christ – straight down to the goddamn _loincloth_ he’s wearing. Dean snorts. The snort turns into a full on chuckle – bordering on a giggle, even.

This so called ‘qaa’ looks like a triangle of leather hanging in front of Cas’s naughty bits. Once Dean undoes the cord holding the neck piece together, making the opening wide enough to pull over Cas’s head, he sees there’s another triangle of leather hanging in the back too. Dollars to donuts says that there’s another strip of leather connecting the two that goes between Cas’s legs. And that all comes together in one hilarious conclusion – Cas would totally wear tightie whities.

“I don’t understand what you find amusing.”

“Dude, you’re wearing a _loincloth_.” Dean manages to get out while trying so hard not to laugh – so hard his chest is aching. “Taking fashion tips from Tarzan are we?”

Cas only frowns again and Dean fights not to think that the confused look is _cute_. He really shouldn’t be thinking of an Angel like that at all. They’re the enemy. Whether this one is good or not. Dean waves the comment off and helps Cas limp to the water. He sits him in the shallows with his left side to the beach to keep his leg in as little water as he can.

“I’m going to have to put the soapy water over your wings and wipe the oil off. It’s going to suck and it’s going to take forever, but you’re going to have to hold still, okay?” He explains while putting on the rubber gloves.

Cas twists to look at him over his shoulder and there’s uncertainty in his eyes. “Let me read the bottle. I want to know what is in this soap.”

“I would – but then you’re going to say ‘no’ and then we’re not going to be able to clean your wings.” Dean goes to get the bucket. “Besides, we use this stuff to help the animals that get hit by oil spills. If it’s okay to use on them, it’s okay to use on you, isn’t it?”

That doesn’t really get Cas to look any less wary. “I would rather clean them myself.” 

He turns back around quickly, like a scolded child, at the flat look Dean sends his way as he picks up the bucket. “I’d like to see you try with that arm. And if you try to clean that busted wing on your own, you’re probably just going to make it worse. You _do_ want to fly again, don’t you?”

Cas’s shoulders go rigid and he sits up straighter. Dean doesn’t doubt that it hurts like a bitch when he flares his left wing, spreading the feathers as wide as he can to give Dean all the access he needs. Bobby said he had to “agitate the water into the feathers” – whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean. In this case Dean just slowly pours the soapy water over the wing in small sections, raking his fingers over the feathers. With the bigger ones he’s better able to pinch them between his fingers to squeeze the oil off of them.

By the time the bucket is empty, a whole section of the wing is cleaner than when Dean started out. It’s trembling and Dean pats the top of it as a sign for Cas to lower it. He relaxes, shoulder slumping and sighing softly.

“Shit. I should have gotten your feathers full of water first. I can save on the soap if they’re already wet.” Dean kneels to fill the bucket again. “I’m just going to throw water on you until they’re soaked, okay?”

“But the water is cold.”

“Gee, really? Me and my freezing toes hadn’t noticed.” He mutters, maybe a little too heavy on the sarcasm. “Now hold still.”

Cas looks over his shoulder once. “Move.”

“What?”

“I said _move_.”

Dean jumps out of the way as Cas just flops back. He hisses and Dean can see the _pain_ on his face as he spreads at least one wing through the water. The other is twitching, like it’s trying to do the same but it just can’t make the cut. Which really isn’t that great considering it’s _broken_ and all.

“Jesus, Cas! What the hell are you doing?” Dean stares, not sure what he should do. He could pull Cas up out of the water, but that would mean touching him more than he already has and that’s just – no. He’s already come to the conclusion that that is not a good idea – thanks, hormones. Or he could just stand here and let the dumbass fuck up his wing even more.

Cas sits up slowly and doubles over, forehead touching the water. He’s breathing hard and Dean’s not surprised. Broken bones aren’t exactly a slice of pie. They’re a bitch when you’re not even moving the arm, leg, _wing_.

With one deep breath, he sits up straight again. “Is that good enough?”

“I knew it. You’re fucking crazy. That’s why you just gave up before, isn’t it?” Dean shakes his head and gets the bucket again, filling it with water and mixing in a few squirts of water. “ _Crazy_.”

“I’m _not_ crazy.” Cas bites out. “I just want this done with.”

“Fair enough. Now spread ‘em.”

After another few steadying breaths, Cas spreads his left wing again. Neither of them really have anything to say to each other right now. Besides, Cas is spending all his time doing weird breathing exercises. It’s Dean who’s itching to fill the silence. He’s finally got someone to talk to out here in the middle of nowhere, but of course it’s an Angel and he doesn’t think there’s a worse way to make a terrible first impression.

They have to take a break after that wing is washed and rinsed so they can warm up. After helping Cas out of the water, Dean uses his flannel to dry his feet – saving the towels for when they’re really done. He puts his boots and jacket back on to warm up while he hunts around the edge of the beach for fallen branches, twigs and things. Cas doesn’t complain when he makes a fire with them, but he does close his eyes and mutter something in Enochian. He huddles closer to the fire and Dean offers him his flannel to dry off faster.

“Is it still bleeding?” Dean asks through a mouthful of granola bar, gesturing at the mostly clean left wing. It could probably do with another comb through. 

“No.”

“Do you want me to bandage it? I don’t know how to bandage wings, but you could probably walk me through it.”

“No.” Cas is doing that deep breathing thing again.

Dean shoves the rest of the bar in his mouth and puts the wrapper in his pocket. “What’s with the breathing? Are you pregnant or something?”

“No.”

“What happened to your multilingual vocabulary, Cas? Now you’re just down to one word?”

Cas lifts his head and glares at him. “No. I’m breathing to help with my concentration and to focus on anything but the pain. That’s why it’s not bleeding anymore. I’ve been pouring as much power into it as I can to heal it.”

“That’s badass.”

“My ass isn’t bad and it doesn’t play any part in healing.” His frown deepens with confusion.

Dean smothers a laugh with a cough. “Right. Well let’s get started on cleaning the other wing. As soon as that’s done, you can tell me how to bandage it and then we’re done here.”

“Thank Caosgi.” Cas looks so relieved that Dean feels like he should be insulted or something.

He would be, if all of this wasn’t his fault. This whole morning is going to haunt him for months. He’ll be fucking lucky if this doesn’t traumatize him or something and he ends up never being able to have a hunt on his own. Jesus, John might disown him if something like that happens.

“What the hell is kah-oh-sah-jae?”

“The Earth.” Cas mutters into his knee, holding his good leg folded to his chest.

He doesn’t move until Dean is stripped back down to his t-shirt and swim trunks. Dean helps him back into the water and keeps a knee pressed against Cas’s back so he can’t be stupid and flop over again to get his wing soaked up. Cas glares at him over his shoulder and Dean resolutely ignores him as he gently dumps bucketful after bucketful of water over it.

Dean is surprised by how much he really hates every hiss Cas makes and the flinch of his shoulders as he works the oil out of the feathers. His chest feels heavy and he tries really hard to ignore all the blame filled, shameful _guilt_ that’s trying to drown him in ankle deep water. They’re both shivering, teeth chattering, by the time Dean finishes rinsing the broken wing.

“Okay, how are they? Clean enough?”

Cas arches his left wing forward, curling it over his shoulder so he can card his fingers through the feathers. Dean doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s probably crinkling his nose. He can see it in how Cas pulls his hand away and rubs his fingers together.

“It’ll do. Please step back.”

“You’re not going to do that thing again are you? Where you flail your wings in the water?”

“No.” He shakes his head and Dean steps forward to help him up. Cas brushes him off once he’s standing and starts hobbling out into deeper waters. “I’m going to cleanse the lake of the poison you washed off of me.”

Dean backs out of the lake, fumbling blindly for the shirt he’d left to dry by the fire. In the time it takes him to get dried off and dressed – except for his boots and socks, Cas has gone under. It’s hard to tell in the sunlight, but Dean thinks he sees _light_ flickering under the gentle swells in this weird little cove. He’s down there long enough for Dean to start worrying and he even takes a few steps toward the surf. There’s no way he went through all that trouble of cleaning those fucking wings just for Cas to go and drown himself.

When Cas finally surfaces, Dean splashes in to help him out. He’s coughing and hacking and his broken wing trails in the water while the other shakes out behind Dean’s shoulders.

“I was not expecting it to be so difficult to swim.” Cas manages to get out between coughs, grabbing at Dean’s shoulders to stay standing. “MY wing weighed me down when I couldn’t move it. It hurt to kick and I couldn’t use my arm properly either.”

Dean puts him down by the fire, he gives him the towels to dry off and warm up with while he builds the fire back up with extra sticks. Cas blinks at the towels, squinting like he’s having trouble focusing. He’s shivering pretty bad and Dean takes one of the towels, trying not to notice how Cas’s hand is shaking while he slowly wipes down his arms and legs. As gently as he can, Dean runs the towel over Cas’s broken wing. They need the feathers mostly dry before he can use his whole roll of bandages on it.

According to Cas, it’s the humerus that’s broken. That’s the bone that connects to the joint on his back. Cas walks him through folding the wing up properly so that the bone lays naturally behind him. He hands Dean the supplies one by one while he uses two relatively straight sticks to splint that section of the wing. The roll of bandage is used in a kind of figure-eight wrap around the joints of his wing to to keep it from unfolding.

Cas spends the whole thing with his shoulders straight. He’s trembling slightly and Dean can’t tell if it’s because of the chill in the air or the pain in his wing. Dean uses the remainder of the rope to tie the wing in place against Cas’s back, looping it around the wing a few times before he binds it around his chest. Cas has to lift his arms out of the way and Dean notices how tightly his jaw is clenched while he ties it off in front of his chest.

“There. That’s as good as it’s going to get. You able to breathe okay?”

He takes exaggerated deep breathes to prove that he can. “Yes, thank you –” Cas stops short and tilts his head. “I don’t know your name.”

“I never gave it.” Dean checks over the knot on the rope. Satisfied with it, he starts packing up.

Cas picks at the knots on the ropes keeping the plastic bags in place. “I may be out of touch with Humans, but I’m fairly certain that not giving your name when someone else already has is considered rude no matter our cultural differences.”

“It is.” Dean shoves the first aid kit into his duffle and zips it shut. He could tell him, but what if Cas goes and tells other Angels about him? What if those Angels _do_ fight Humans and they try to get revenge on him, or on his dad, or Bobby or _Sammy_? Can he take that risk?

The towel Cas was still holding lands on his hand. Dean yanks it off and looks up to see Cas sliding the bag off his foot. The one on his arm is already in the bucket with the pieces of rope. Dean’s always been good at reading people and he can see the exhaustion in every movement Cas makes.

“You okay, Cas?”

His mouth twists and Dean nearly flinches from the glare. “Do I look okay to you?”

“No, not really. But I did try to kill you earlier and I just finished patching you up.” Dean shrugs and shoves the rest of his stuff into the bucket , putting it by his bag. “What you _do_ look like is like you’re ready to pass out at any moment.”

Cas’s shoulders sag and his good wing droops. “I am very tired.”

“Yeah, well, you _were_ bleeding all over the place for awhile there. Sorry for that, by the way. And how much of your mystical Angel mojo did you use on the lake anyway?”

“More than I normally do. There were more pollutants than usual thanks to your oil, and I purified my wings of what you hadn’t been able to clean.” Cas pulls his good wing forward, running his fingers through the feathers. “They’re normal now.”

Dean stands up and stretches his back, pausing to look out at the lake. “Why didn’t you do that before and save us all that trouble of washing them?”

“I was in too pain. There was too much oil for me to purify my wings.” Cas shrugs and reaches for the sling, putting it on as he talks. “It’s complicated to explain and I have the feeling you won’t really listen.”

“You’re probably right.” Dean kicks some sand onto the fire to start putting  it out. “Where do you live?”

Cas’s wing flares out and he looks up at Dean, eyes narrowed again in that distrusting glare. From the corner of his eye, Dean sees purple flowers start growing along the edge of the beach. He turns to look at them and Cas does too. Once Cas notices, the flowers stop spreading.

“That happened back at the clearing.” Dean murmurs and Cas looks at him again. “Are you doing that?”

“It... happens. It’s like a power leakage if I’m not being careful and they grow according to my emotions.” Cas sighs and slumps more. “I don’t want to tell you where I live.”

Of course he doesn’t. Who would? “Yeah, I don’t blame you.” He picks up his duffle, slinging it over his shoulder and across his chest. “But there’s no way your busted ass is going to hobble back to your place on your own. If you don’t let me help you, I’ll just follow you. It’s not exactly a skill I’m proud of, but I’m really good at following people once I’ve found them.”

Dean offers Cas his hand to help him up. “C’mon, Cas. I told you already – I did this. I’m responsible for you – either until I get you home and I know you’re going to be okay, or until you’re back to normal.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re going to leave me alone.”

He shrugs again and loops Cas’s arm over his shoulders to help him limp up the path toward the clearing, the bucket in one hand. “Don’t worry. As soon as I figure out what to tell dad and Bobby, I’ll be out of this forest and back to civilization before you know it. You won’t have to see my gorgeous face ever again.”

Cas doesn’t say anything until they’re back at the clearing. “You’ve called me ‘Cas’ a few times before. Why do you call me that? My name is Castiel.”

Dean mentally stops and thinks that over. He didn’t even realize he’d given him a nickname already. And he can’t remember at what point today he started calling him Cas instead of Castiel in his head. “It’s easier to say. I’ll stop if you want.”

“No. I don’t mind, it’s okay.”

Their conversation falls flat again. They keep walking until Dean’s shoulders are starting to ache from all the shit he’s carrying – Cas included. Eventually Cas turns them from the path and onto some dirt trail that’s barely visible through all the tree roots. It’s so narrow that they almost have to go sideways – Dean first and dragging Cas behind him.

The silence gets to be too much again and Dean decides to be _that person_ and make a comment on how fucking _far_ they’ve had to walk. Except instead of whining, the words that come out of his mouth are much different and he catches himself by surprise.

“Dean. I’m Dean.”

Cas chooses then to trip on a root and stumble hard into his side. “Excuse me?”

“My name is Dean.”

They take another few shuffling steps before Cas speaks quietly. “Thank you for not killing me, Dean.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Dean hefts him up a little more to keep the weight off his left leg. “Are we getting anywhere even slightly close to your place?”

“See those rocks?” Cas gestures with his chin. “There.”

There’s a pile of rocks that juts out of the ground not too far ahead of them. Now that he notices it, Dean sees that the ground is getting rockier off the edges of the path and it looks like that rocky outcropping their heading for is actually the tail end of what could end up being a cliff further along? Hell if he knows. Dean didn’t exactly _ace_ geography.

The path takes them in a wide curve around the end of the rocks, bringing them to a small clearing along its side. Dean stops them at the edge of the clearing and he’s not sure if he really believes what he’s seeing. He can’t tell how many trees there are, but they’re folded and twisted together, growing at an angle to form something like a – fuck, he doesn’t know. A pyramid?

There’s a hole in one of the trees on the left and Dean would bet good money that that’s a window. What probably stands for a door is mostly shielded by a thick sheet of hanging vines and moss that looks like it’s growing along a branch that connects the two trees on either side of the entrance. Dean can see inside of the structure above the branch. It’s mostly in shadow, but it looks like there’s some kind of basket hanging just inside this other – what? A window?

Dean whistles long and low. "So this is your house?"

"Yes. This is my salman." Cas nods and takes another step towards it, forcing Dean to go forward too or risk getting dragged behind him. All Dean hears is a gibberish combination of syllables that sounds like ee-sah-el-mah-nah and it still doesn’t mean anything to him. “That translates roughly to ‘the house’. The proper word for it in your language is ‘lair’.

He really doesn’t have anything to say to that and he just turns his head to stare at Cas in complete and utter disbelief. Maybe he was mishearing things again.

Cas doesn’t even look at him. "What?"

"Are you a Bond villain or something?"

"A what?" That gets him a look, full of confusion.

Dean snorts and gestures at the house in front of them. "A ' _lair_ '? Are you serious?"

Cas frowns more. "You _do_ know the meaning of the word, don't you?"

He shrugs. No, he doesn’t.

"A lair is a secret location. My home is a secret and is, therefore, a lair. If you're going to speak a language, at least know the meaning of the words that form it." Cas honest to God rolls his eyes as they continue to shuffle forward and Dean narrows his eyes in warning.

"I will drop your crippled ass if you don't watch that sass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Lavender: distrust


	5. Silvanus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of reflex, Dean glances around to make sure that nobody can overhear him – whether he’s in the middle of a damn forest halfway up the side of a mountain or not. “You can’t tell dad, Bobby. I’m gonna try and think of something to tell him, but I already caused enough trouble up here. I can’t let dad get his hooks into this one. He’ll just come up here and do what I didn’t.”
> 
> “Didn’t or couldn’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She's awesome enough to share her AU with me and let me write it for her and the gorgeous art she makes for it. Please go and give her some love for it, okay?
> 
> Whenever we get fanart, there will be a _(NEW)_ next to that section. Be sure to go check them out!
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches)

After fighting his way through the hanging moss-vine-door of _death_ while dragging Cas behind him, there is only one thing Dean can think about Cas’s home. There are woven mats fucking _everywhere._

There are half-finished ones hanging from racks and frames pushes up against walls, a pile of them against the wall to the right, and few laid out around the edges of what looks like a fire pit on the right. And then there are the ones lining the trees themselves. The basket he’d seen hanging inside through the ‘window’ above the door is another woven mat and it’s suspended above their heads in the center of the ceiling.

Closer inspection and a helluva lot of squinting tells Dean that no, that’s not a mat made of grass and whatever the hell else Cas’s entirely too impressive mat collection is made of. It looks like it’s a bunch of vines all woven together to form a net and that’s holding a bunch of the mats. The net of vines holds the whole basket-thing to the ceiling, twining thick and tight around and into the wood like – like they were grown to be like that.

Goddamn. This whole place was probably built and designed with Cas’s freaky forest Angel mojo.

That doesn’t stop Dean from snooping with his eyes as he leads Cas to a small bunch of mats that look like they’re sewn together and wrapped around grass or straw or who-the-hell-knows to make a weird looking version of a couch. Maybe? Like _he_ knows what constitutes as Angel furniture. Far as anyone is concerned, Dean is probably the first Human to step inside an Angel’s home.

He looks up again to check out what apparently goes as the second floor of this place. There’s nothing but that hanging vine-basket-thing and another couple mats rolled up and tied into place above the ‘window’ that makes up the space above the door. Boring.

The rock-lined fire pit is almost right under the window on the far right of the ‘house’ – and Dean uses that term loosely because it’s not a ‘house’, it’s a _lair_. Dean had seen the window from the outside and there is an actual _shelf_ grown right out of the tightly woven trees a little to one side of the pit, not mentioning all the other shelves on the trees all around the room.

There’s a stand built over the fire pit made up of two little trees that grow straight up and then bend at an almost ninety degree angle toward each other. They meet in the middle with a kind of swirl and they almost look like they’re holding onto the other’s branch.  Hanging from the middle of the weird swirl is – what?

“Where the hell did you get a metal pot?”

“I stole it, what do you think? We have metal workers the same as you do.” Cas mutters against his shoulder and starts to draw away. He looks a helluva lot more pale and tired than he did when they started out from the lake. “Thank you for bringing me home. You can leave now.”

“Like hell I am.” Dean steps away from Cas long enough to drop his bag and bucket, then he’s back and helping to maneuver him onto the couch-thing. “I told you, I’m not leaving until I know you’re going to be okay.”

Cas slumps onto the pile of mats that makes up the ‘seat’ part of the couch and he teeters, eyes closed and chin to his chest. He sighs heavily and rubs a hand over his face. “You’ve already done enough. Please, just _go_.”

Dean winces and silently, sarcastically, thanks Cas for reminding him just how badly he’s fucked up today. “You’re about to pass out. We gotta get some food in you and you’re probably gonna refuse anything I bring back from the trailer. So, what have _you_ got?”

The look Cas gives him practically screams _‘get the fuck out’_ and Dean would – he’d like nothing better than to leave – but there’s the pesky problem of the guilt clawing thick in his stomach. If he leaves and Cas keels over and ends up dying or hurting himself more, Dean is going to feel like shit. It doesn’t matter that if he left he’s probably never going to see Cas again and he wouldn’t know if anything happened to him. But Dean would likely wind up driving himself crazy with worry. Then he’d end up driving all the way back out here and hike through the goddamn woods until he found this place again, all just to check up on the grouchy fucker.

And that is exactly why Dean crosses his arms and stares Cas down with the most stubborn face he’s got. “Look, either you tell me where your food is or I start poking around in your _lair_ until I find something. Which would you prefer?”

Cas’s shoulders slump and he gestures vaguely toward the fire pit. “There’s some bread over there.” He starts to cross his legs and he stops halfway, hissing through his teeth.

Dean crosses the room and tries not to duck when he walks under the moss hanging from the vines of the net. “You got anything like painkillers?”

“Yes. But it would require boiling water and making a tea.” Cas murmurs quietly behind him.

It takes a little bit of searching through the little covered bowls and weird woven bags on the shelf to find the bread. It looks more like pizza dough minus the delicious pizza toppings than it does any kind of bread that Dean’s ever had before. The bread’s been cut up into rectangular pieces and it’s kept in a clay bowl with a lid on it. Dean just takes the whole thing back across the room to Cas.

“Tell me where I can get water fast and I’ll do it.” He puts the bowl on the floor by Cas’s leg.

“You don’t –”

“Dude, don’t make me repeat myself. Just tell me where and what to get. I’m on it like white on rice.”

Cas doesn’t even bother looking up to fight him about it. He’s slow at moving to lift the lid off the bread bowl. “Start a fire first. Nothing big, just enough to get the coals hot.”

Orders. Good. Dean can work with those.

He goes back to the fire pit and shifts the pot out of the way, moving the whole thing until its sitting on the ground with the handle around the base of one of the little stand-trees. The pit is already lined with grass and twigs and all the little tinder shit you need to start a fire. Dean gets a small one going before he turns around to find Cas just _staring_ again while he’s chewing slowly on a piece of bread. The chewing thing is making the staring thing creepier than the last time he did it.

“Okay, what now?”

Cas tilts his head to the cave at the back of the house. Specifically at the cave that Dean’s been trying his best to not think about because even though it’s not that deep, it’s still a fucking _cave_ and who the hell knows what’s inside it?

“The kettle is on a stone ledge next to the spring.” That would explain the sound of rushing water then. Dean goes to his bag and Cas’s good wing flares out sharply, stopping him short. “You won’t require anything to see by.”

“I don’t much like the idea of stumbling around in the dark, Cas.”

His eyebrow quirks at the use of the nickname again. “It’s only shadows. The light from the entrance will be enough to see by and anything else will be made up for by the fungi.”

“You’ve got glowing fungus?” Dean says it flatly, barely even a question and more like an ‘ _are you fucking kidding me’_. “Of course you do. Couldn’t just use a candle, could you?”

“I do have candles if you’d prefer.”

“I’m not going to root around in your stuff anymore than I have to.” He turns on his heel and goes for the cave, glancing around the room once to take in the shelves with little knick-knacks on them.

Most of the stuff just looks like more baskets and glass jars with different kinds of plants or pastes in them. Hell if Dean knows what they are. He’d bet good money that if Angels have metal workers then they probably have glass blowers too, so the jars aren’t that big of a surprise. There’s a stump at the cave-end of the couch that has a weird looking branch with a bulbed base sitting on it. The top curves off to one side and there are little coloured stones hanging from it. It’s oddly pretty and one of the few things that looks like it’s just a decoration.

He’s not counting all the mats – even the ones that have designs woven into them – as decorations. Except maybe the one that’s hanging next to the cave on the other side of the room from where he and Cas are. It may not be the only one that doesn’t look like a straw mat, but it’s the only one with a design stitched into it. It actually looks like an honest to God _tapestry_ or something. Like it’s made of string instead of grass. It’s got the same circle with the symbols in and around it that Cas has on his chest. The bottom is ragged and the whole thing looks _old_. It’s not the only tapestry type thing hanging on the walls and Dean’s not sure if they serve any kind of purpose other than to hang around and look pretty.

Dean reaches the cave and he forces himself not to hesitate. He isn’t afraid of dark spaces and he’s not claustrophobic or anything even remotely like it. But he still feels a chill go down his spine when he steps into the shadows. The light from the opening in the trees doesn’t go very far into it and Dean carefully walks past ledges and shelves and little nooks and crannies filled with more jars, baskets, little bags and tools. There are bigger jars and baskets on the floor, lined up against the wall.

It’s not like Dean’s snooping on purpose. John taught him to be observant, taught him to take note of everything he sees because anything could be useful when shit hits the fan.

He spots a shelf stacked with clay bowls and cups and makes note of it for when he’s heading back. Just inside the cave entrance there’s a stone slab leaning up against the wall and a stack of four perfectly even slices of tree next to it. On the floor, piled against one wall, are tied bundles of – fuck, he doesn’t know. Nature shit? Some of it looks like grass, some of it looks like strips of bark, some are just bundles of twigs. Far as Dean cares, they’re supplies and that’s that.

Halfway into the cave the light from the treehouse stops being enough to see by. Beyond that the entire area is lit by clumps of glowing mushrooms. But they’re not the kind with the bulbed head that look like a weird little umbrella. These are the flat ones that grow in various layers like – like a shelving unit from hell. They litter the floor and wherever on the walls there happens to be dirt between the rocks. They glow brightly and Dean’s not sure if that’s because they’re supposed to or if it’s Cas’s mojo at work. Either way, the green light they give off is enough for him to see by and Dean finds the kettle at the very back of the cave, right where Cas said it would be, next to a goddamn waterfall.

It’s not a huge waterfall or anything, not any taller than he is and it pours down into a little pool. The edge is raised and goes around the pool like it was built up like that. And it probably was to keep it from flooding the rest of the cave. The water must be coming down through the rocks from somewhere up the ridge and he hasn’t  have a clue where it drains into below.

Cas really lucked out on a prime location.

The kettle doesn’t look any different than the one he’s seen on Bobby’s countertop. It’s made of clay and has an arched handle that goes from the base of the spout up over the lid to the back of it. The biggest difference from Bobby’s kettle is that this one seems to have a built in stand with legs sticking out of it. There’s a cup on a long stick sitting next to it and Dean uses that to fill it with water. On his way back he snags one of the cups from the dish shelf.

“Move your ass back to that couch before I do it for you.”

Cas looks up from where he’s kneeling next to the fire pit. He’s got a stick in his left hand. It’s blackened at one end and he’s using it to poke at the glowing coals and the little flames licking up from them. Dean puts the kettle over the flames and centers it on its stand so that the flames are just barely touching the bottom. Cas puts the stick down and accepts Dean’s hand to help him to his feet. He leans on Dean more than he did before and instead of just sitting when they get back to the couch, Cas ends up laying on his side.

Something that feels a bit too much like worry twists in his stomach and Dean is crouched next to the couch with his hand pressed to Cas’s forehead before either of them realize he’s doing it. Cas turns his head and stares up at him, eyes wide for the few seconds before Dean feels his forehead crease into a frown under his palm.

“Don’t glare at me like that. I’m just checking to see if you have a fever.”

“I don’t.” Cas turns his face into the couch sharply, dislodging Dean’s hand.

“You might get one since you basically run around half naked, and you went for a swim when it’s barely even spring.” Dean rocks back on his heels, arms crossed over his knees. “And we can’t forget how much blood you lost. Plus there was oil all over a few of your wounds, so something might have gotten infected.”

Cas shakes his head and immediately looks like he regrets it, eyes squeezing shut tightly. “They were purified of the oil when I cleaned the lake. Now stop pestering me and go get a jar of flowers from the top cubby – the first on the right – when you enter the cave. They will look like daisies.”

Dean does as he’s told. Orders make things simple. “What do daisies look like?”

“White petals. Yellow center.”

There’s a bunch of jars shoved into the hole in the cave wall. Only one of them has flowers with white petals. He brings it to Cas to confirm it’s the right one before he checks if the water is boiling. There aren’t enough bubbles for Cas’s liking when he describes it and Dean has to wait a few minutes of unbearable silence because he can’t think of fuck all to say right now. They wait until he tells Cas, “Yes, the water’s surface is _completely_ disrupted.”

He’s instructed to drop a handful of the flowers into the water, stems and all. Dean uses the charred stick to push the coals around until they’re too spread out to have any flames. According to Cas there’s ten minutes to kill before the tea will be steeped enough to do him any good and he can’t stand another ten minutes of uncomfortable quiet.

Dean turns around, mouth open to ask a question but he stops. Cas’s eyes are focused on the vine-net hanging in the center of the home. He looks annoyed.

Instead of asking what he was going to ask, Dean says, “What’s up?”

“I won’t be able to get into my nest tonight.” He frowns more and his eyes drop to Dean. “I can’t fly up there and I doubt I could concentrate long enough to grow the vines enough for me to climb in, let alone shorten them to raise it back into place.”

“Hold on.” Dean holds up his hand to stop Cas from saying anything else and he points at the net of vines. “Are you saying that’s your bed?”

“What else would it be?”

“I dunno, storage for all these mats?” Dean gestures around the room. “Seriously, why the hell do you have so many of them?” If he gets bored enough, he might just try counting them.

Cas just keeps on frowning at him and Dean’s not sure if he likes that any more than he does the creepy staring. “They have multiple uses. Insulation during the winter, seating, bedding, decoration, keeping the rain out, as an extra blanket. I could go on.”

Dean checks his watch. There’s still more time left for the tea to steep and he’s trying to ignore how it’s somehow already past noon. “What about all those unfinished ones?” He points at the half woven mats on racks around the room. “And the ones rolled up in the cave? Back ups?”

He doesn’t look away and if anything the frown deepens. Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to the kettle, looking around the fire pit for the cup he’d put down earlier. “Let me guess. It’s an Angel secret and you can’t tell me.”

“It’s not a secret.” Cas says softly. “I’m just… unaccustomed to sharing things about myself.”

“Yeah?” Dean snorts and checks his watch again. Close enough. “In my experience, you Angels aren’t really big on the sharing. Do I just pour this or do I gotta fish out the flowers?” Bobby uses teabags and Dean’s never had the stuff himself. If he’s going to be drinking hot plant juice, he’d rather it be from a coffee bean.

“There’s a strainer in the spout. You can just pour it. And asking what I do with the products of my hobby doesn’t put my clan at risk.” Cas grunts as he sits up again, one wing shuffling against his back. “The only time we wouldn’t say anything is when we think it will put others in danger.”

“So telling me all this, me coming back to your house and knowing where you live and shit, that’s not considered a danger?” Dean hands him the cup carefully and leaves a decent amount of space between them when he sinks onto the couch next to Cas, leaning back against the stuffed mats. “You’re pretty well set up in here. You gonna move now that I know?”

Cas blows on the tea before taking a sip. He crinkles his nose and Dean spends a few seconds paranoid that he made it wrong. “I never did like the taste of Feverfew.” He murmurs against the lip of the cup, drinking again and he looks at Dean out of the corner of his eye. It’s a look that sends another chill down his spine and Dean’s not exactly sure of the feelings behind it. “What makes you think I’m going to let you leave so easily?”

“I figured if you were going to kill me you’d have done it already.” Dean shrugs and looks away, trying to keep his cool and not give up that his stomach is twisting itself into complicated knots. Worst of all it’s not just fear settling in his belly.

There’s something else curling around in there and he doesn’t like it. It’s the same thing that played hopscotch on his vertebrae and he barely knows what it is. If it’s what he thinks it might be – and he hopes, with fingers _and_ toes crossed, that it’s not – then it’s so far beyond appropriate that it’s not even on the same fucking planet anymore.

“Killing you wouldn’t do me much good. Your associates would come looking before long and I would still be forced to move.”

Dean inclined his head in agreement. If John wasn’t too busy, then Bobby definitely would. And it might be enough to drag Sammy out of California. “So you’re going to keep me prisoner then?”

“Unlikely. You’re rather annoying.”

Dean isn’t sure if he should laugh or be insulted. He manages a snort and gets to his feet, crossing the room for the kettle. “Yeah, like you’re a friggen ray of sunshine yourself.”

“There _is_ a reason I live alone.” Cas watches him over the rim of his cup as he comes back and he holds it out for Dean to refill it. “This is my choice.”

His expression gets unexpectedly steely and Dean’s brain throws up warning lights all over this topic. It’s screaming _abortabortabort_ at him and he scrambles for something new to talk about as he sits down again. Or instead of something new, maybe he’ll go back to what they were talking about before.

“Well what are we going to do then?” He folds his hands behind his head and stares up at Cas’s nest. “We’re not going to kill each other and you’re not going to keep me prisoner. I could try and keep you a secret, but Dad and Bobby are gonna figure out there’s still an Angel here when the signs keep cropping up after I’ve left. You’re subtle, Cas, but certain things only happen around Angels and the hunter network is spread across the whole damn country.”

Cas sips at his tea quietly for a few moments. “Are you suggesting that I stop tending to the forest, the waters, and the crops? That I pretend like I’m not here?”

“I’ve known you half a day and the most that you’ve actually talked is in the last hour.” Dean slants a smirk at him when Cas turns to look at him. “And I already know that you wouldn’t stop just because I told you to. Cleaning that lake meant so much to you that you damn near _drowned_ to fix it up. I was ten seconds away from running in after you, y’know?”

He hums and puts his cup aside. “The sentiment is appreciated.” 

While Cas is looking down at his hands, a bunch of flowers bursts to life at the end of the couch, right next to Dean’s foot, and it takes everything he has not to flinch away from it. There’s a small bush of little green leaves and a half dozen towers of little yellow-green flowers rocket up for it. They kinda remind Dean of the purple flowers from the clearing earlier this morning.

Another few bunches sprout up around the room before Cas tilts his head back and looks up at the nest again, sighing softly. “I am very tired.”

“And that would be my cue to take a hike, huh?” Dean pulls his hand back from touching the flowers and stands. The moment he’s out of the way, Cas slumps over onto his side again – almost laying on his stomach once he rearranges himself on the couch. “Hey, what flowers are these?”

“Agrimony.”                                                                                                  

“And those purple ones back in the clearing this morning and on the beach?”

“Lavender.”

“What about that little pink –”

“Eglantine rose.”

“Huh.” Dean raises his eyebrow, the action more to himself than it is Cas. He catches himself wondering if there’s any sort of correlation between the flowers and Cas’s emotions or if it’s just random. Two seconds later he decides he doesn’t care enough to ask.

Cas doesn’t say anything else while Dean cleans up – putting the jar back in the cave and moving the kettle and cup out of the way so Cas doesn’t accidentally knock them over while he naps. Dean has picked up his things and is brushing aside the hanging vines over the entrance when Cas speaks again. His eyes are closed and he’s almost talking into the couch instead of at Dean. “I make the mats to trade back at the clan for things I can’t easily make myself. The jars, the crockery, wool blankets, etcetera. I go back once a year to trade the mats and other things that I can create here.”

“That’s pretty cool.” Dean tells himself he doesn’t feel pleased that Cas explained it. Why should he care? It’s not like a loner Angel is sharing stuff about himself is something he should care about. It’s not even really useful information for him to give to Bobby or John. Sammy would be more interested in all of this than anyone else that Dean knows.

He hesitates before leaving. “You gonna be warm enough?”

“I’m not a complete invalid.” Cas waves his hand before letting it drop to the couch again. “If you haven’t noticed, there are plenty of mats within reach.”

Dean smothers his smirk and takes another step out the door before turning back. “I’m going to be around another few days to take down all my traps and shit. I’ll be back to check up on you and change the bandages if you need the help.”

Cas’s wing twitches and he tilts his head enough to fix Dean with a one-eyed glare, the other hidden against the couch. “That’s really not necessary.”

“And yet I’m going to do it anyway.” Dean grins at him and Cas’s look turns even more venomous. “See ya tomorrow, Cas! Who knows, I might even drop in this evening to make sure you don’t get eaten by a bear or something.” He gives him a two fingered salute and slips out before Cas can say anything else. 

He follows the roundabout trail around the rock outcropping and he doesn’t stop until he hits the main path. Once he’s heading back down to the clearing, he digs the satellite phone out of his bag and dials up Bobby. It picks up on the third ring.

“Dean.”

“When did you get psychic, Bobby? I know for a fact you don’t have call display.”

“Shows what you know, boy.” Bobby huffs and Dean can hear the clattering of dishes in the background. “Got a new phone last week when I knocked the old one off the table and smashed it to shit on the floor. It was a piece of crap anyway. Older than you.”

Dean grins through a laugh. “Most of your shit is. Just shows you’re getting old.”

“Get your ass back here and I’ll show you who’s _old_.”

They make idle chatter for a few more minutes. It’s mostly teasing and vague threats. There’s still no news on John and Dean’s about to ask if Bobby’s heard from Sammy when Bobby cuts to the quick. “So how’s your bird?”

Dean actually stumbles and almost ends up flat on his face. “Just fine. I’m gonna have to check on it over the next few days, but it came out of the cleaning practically as good as new. It’s pretty fucking grumpy, but that’s kinda expected.”

There’s silence for a few beats before Bobby sighs and Dean can perfectly picture him rubbing his forehead under his ball cap. He’s probably pouring himself a shot of whiskey at this point, but Dean doesn’t say anything. He waits for the inevitable.

“I’m not stupid, Dean.”

And there it is.

“I know you’re not, Bobby.”

“Then stop friggen treating me like I am and tell me what the hell happened this morning.” Dean flinches from the words even though the tone behind them is more tired than it is upset. “Why were you cleaning up an Angel?”

Out of reflex, Dean glances around to make sure that nobody can overhear him – whether he’s in the middle of a damn forest  halfway up the side of a mountain or not. “You can’t tell dad, Bobby. I’m gonna try and think of something to tell him, but I already caused enough trouble up here. I can’t let dad get his hooks into this one. He’ll just come up here and do what I didn’t.”

“Didn’t or couldn’t?”

“ _Didn’t_.” Dean insists, stopping to slump against a tree. He’ll just keep telling himself that if Cas had been ruthless, if he had fought back, he would have done it. He would have put a bullet through his head. He _would have_. No matter how much the thought – now that he knows Cas as little as he does – makes something inside him twist. “Just promise me you won’t tell dad.”

“Of course I ain’t gonna, idjit. I don’t tell John a damn thing you tell me in confidence and he knows it.”

Something folds tight in Dean’s chest, pulsing fond warmth through him and he smiles. Whatever he did to deserve Bobby, he’s grateful for it. “Thanks.”

He tells him in short, to the point sentences what happened. He tries not to tell Bobby all the information Cas intentionally – or unintentionally – shared with him or where Cas’s house is or what it looks like or what Cas looks like or even his name.

The most interesting thing Dean notices after he’s done is that Bobby doesn’t seem at all surprised to find out that Angels can speak English. It just makes him wonder just how much Bobby really knows.

“You’re still hiding shit from me, boy.” Bobby grunts and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d think he sounds kinda hurt by it.

“For his sake, Bobby. He doesn’t fuck with Humans, why should I fuck with him?” He pulls away from the tree and continues toward the clearing. It’ll be another half hour walk from there to the trailer and he doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s probably just as tired as Cas.

“Don’t bite my head off for this, but I gave him more than enough chances to kill me and he didn’t take it. He was _willing_ to let me _kill him_ , for fuck’s sake. He didn’t want to keep me prisoner or anything so he doesn’t have to move and – Bobby, we gotta think of something to tell dad, to keep other hunters away from here. He’s a grumpy dick but he doesn’t deserve hunters on his ass. He _helps_ the people around here and in all the forests I’ve been in, this is the nicest and I could have drank that whole lake after getting the oil out of his wings and I wouldn’t have gotten sick because he _cleans it_.”

Dean comes up to the clearing and stops. His net is still where Cas left it and the harpoons are still stuck in the trees. The ground is splattered with black flecks of oil and he doesn’t have the energy to clean it up right now. But he can’t just leave it all laying out like this – what if some animal comes along and gets sick off of it? Cas would probably never forgive him – not that he’s looking for Cas’s forgiveness – if anything died from this. It leads him to thinking about all the other times he’s used the net canon and didn’t clean up the oil after John finished off the Angel they’d caught. His traps are designed to take down an Angel without little to no care for the environment and any animals it might effect.

That just makes him feel like worse shit.

Bobby hasn’t said anything yet and Dean doesn’t know if he’s thinking or if the connection dropped or what. “How do I clean up oil?”

“Dig it out. Reseed if it’s grass.”

“Dirt.”

“Just dig it out then.” Bobby starts banging around with his pots and pans again. “This ain’t your fault, Dean. I sent you out there on nothing but the signs and without the whole story. You did the right thing letting him go and don’t you worry about John. I’ll figure something out. You take care of what you need to do up there and come back here when you’re done. If you need help, just let me know.”

That fond feeling grows and Dean suddenly feels awkward standing alone in the middle of a clearing while he’s grinning like an idiot. “Thanks, Bobby. You’re the best. I should’a called you the moment I found out about the crops.”

“Yeah, you probably should’ve. But hindsight is twenty/twenty. Just don’t hang around long enough for your Angel to change his mind.”

“He’s not my Angel.” Dean denies on reflex, though it’s the first time he’s said something like _that_.

“Your responsibility. Your Angel.”

“Fuck off, Bobby.” He laughs and enjoys the little chuckle Bobby gives. “Alright, I’ve got to clean up this net and then I’m going to crash for a couple hundred years.”

“Alright. Call me tomorrow evening to let me know you’re still alive. I’d hate to have to drive up there and kick some Angel ass because he decided to off you in the night.”

“Thanks, Bobby. For everything.” He hangs up after Bobby says ‘goodbye’ and spends a good few minutes trying to roll up the net without getting more oil everywhere and somehow get it into the bucket. It’s just going to make more for him to carry back, but it’s better than leaving it here.

Dean gets the harpoons from the trees before he heads back to the trailer. It takes him longer and it’s well into late afternoon by the time he gets back. He dumps everything in a corner, kicks off his boots, and he’s facedown and asleep on the cushions still laid out on the floor before he even takes his jacket off.

He doesn’t wake up until his alarm starts screeching at sunrise the next day.

After the breakfast of champions that he missed out on yesterday, Dean takes a shower and still manages to set out from the trailer within an hour of waking up.  He leaves armed with only the weapons he can carry on his body, rubber gloves, a garbage bag, a small handheld shovel from the impala’s trunk and a bag of rolled oats in one pocket, a cinnamon shaker in the other.

His morning project starts at the beach and Dean’s back and knees are aching by the time he works his way up the path to the clearing. The garbage bag is starting to get heavy with all the little scoops of dirt and sand he’s put in it so far, digging up every little drop of oil that he finds. He practically crawls the whole way and if it wasn’t for his walkman and favourite tapes, he’d probably have given up after the first fifteen minutes.

The music is a good distraction and he loses himself to singing along to all the songs. He knows every lyric of every song on the well worn tapes and when he’s played through both sides of all five he’s got in his jacket pocket, he starts them over again and keeps going. Cleaning up this mess is the least he can do to at least _try_ and make it up to Cas.

By the time he’s done, the sun is a lot higher in the sky than he expected it to be and he’s been working solidly for more hours than he cares to think about. Dean’s back cracks and pops when he stretches and he leaves the bag of dirt tucked up against the base of a tree with the shovel and gloves. He hums his way up the path towards Cas’s place. Like a dumbass, he ends up missing the little trail he needs to take and has to double back to find it.

Dean only starts to get nervous when he sees the rocks again. Maybe he really is pushing it by showing up again? What if Cas has changed his mind and decided he really is going to kill him? What if yesterday was all just an act to trick him? All the ‘what ifs’ and ‘maybes’ make Dean slow down and he takes even longer to get to the glade in front of Cas’s lair than it should.

He pulls his headphones out of his ears and tucks them into an inside pocket next to the walkman, turning it off in the same gesture. Dean shuffles uncomfortably at the edge of the clearing and looks around. There’s no sign of Cas outside the house and he can’t hear anything going on inside from here.

“Nut up, Winchester.” He mumbles under his breath and sets out across the clearing. He gets within five feet of the entrance before he stops again and cups his hands around his mouth. “Cas! You alive in there?”

His answer is a heavy thud, the ground shaking like a mini earthquake under his feet, and a roar that chills his blood. Dean has a split second to think he’s heard something make that sound before and a prehistoric park with man eating reptiles flashes through his head before something hits him from behind. He didn’t even have the time to reach for the gun strapped to his thigh or the one resting snug against his ribs.

Dean knew it. He fucking _knew it_. He shouldn’t have come back. Cas somehow raised a goddamn t-rex from the dead and he’s seconds away from having his head bitten off. From his new perspective with his nose in the dirt, he can tell only a few things. One is that the beast on top of him is heavy as hell and something is digging hard into his back in three places. The other is that something is fucking _glowing_. There’s a blue light above him that’s lighting up what little ground he can see.

Something tickles the back of his neck and a rumbling growl fills his ears.

“Bliorax, Silvanus!” Cas’s voice is familiar and Dean’s not sure if it’s relief or more fear that cuts off his breathing as easily as the press of what he can only assume is a big ass foot on his back.

“Yeah, what he said.” Dean mumbles into the dirt. “Blee-oh-rah-atz, Silvanus.”

Cas’s bare feet step into view, most of his weight still being held off the swollen ankle wrapped in Dean’s tenser bandage. “It would be extremely wise for you to be silent right now, Dean.”

Okay, yeah. He can do that. Dean waits while Cas speaks quickly in Enochian and he’s going to pretend that the grunts, growls and half-roars from above him isn’t the creature talking back. When the weight finally lifts, Dean pushes up and takes a deep breath. You never do appreciate how your ribcage expands when you breathe until it can’t anymore.

“I’ve convinced Silvanus not to kill you, but I would still suggest not making any sudden movements.”

He looks up and Cas is standing right in front of him and that inappropriate something twists in his stomach again. Cas is standing there in nothing but the sling and his damn loincloth again. Dean doesn’t want to know _why_ and he doesn’t want to think about how he kinda thinks that an Angel is hot. Appreciating a good looking dude in a bar is galaxies different from thinking something that isn’t even Human – no matter how Human he looks – is attractive is just one great big _‘no’_.

“Stand slowly.” Cas gestures and Dean notices offhandedly that his hand is shiny and covered in a clear oil of some kind. Either Cas was cooking in his skivvies or he was doing things that Dean _should not be thinking about._

This is the exact reason why he shouldn’t go more than a week without sex. Another few days and he might start thinking dirty things about goddamn trees. His libido is a force to be reckoned with and it’s really choosing the absolute fucking _worst_ time to decide to remind Dean that he hasn’t been laid in nearly a month.

Dean gets to his feet and Cas gestures for him to step forward just as slowly until they’re standing side by side. Only then is he allowed to turn around and as soon as he does, Dean’s hand drops to the gun on his thigh.

“Don’t.” Cas grabs his wrist and lets go just as quickly. “Your weapons will be ineffective and you’ll only make him angry.”

He can understand that. Pissing off the giant monster staring him down really isn’t something he wants to do right around now. At least now he knows where that blue light was coming from. It’s coming from the creature’s eyes and behind what passes for his ribcage. It’s like a pulsing, twisting, glowing fog inside the curved wood of his chest and it shines through in other pieces of his shifting body.

This ‘Silvanus’ is big. Fucking _huge_. His shoulders stand taller than Dean and his long, catlike body is made up of wood and vines. Moss hangs from him in places, even forming a beard under a jagged, _fierce_ looking mouth. Branches twist up from the top of what makes up Sivlanus’s face and they’re tipped with a shock of autumn red leaves.

 “Cas.” Dean says quietly and the creature growls at him for it. He licks his lips, swallows, and tries again. “Cas – _what the hell is that?_ ”

“This is Silvanus. He guards the forest.”

“You have a _guard dog?_ ”

“He’s not a dog.”

“And where the hell did he come from?” He’s pretty sure he would have noticed something this big yesterday and Dean’s trying hard not to wonder how the hell he didn’t see Silvanus when he was coming up the trail to Cas’s house today.

Cas limps forward and reaches out for Silvanus. For one insane moment, Dean nearly jumps forward to pull him away. But Silvanus ducks his head and presses his nose into Cas’s hand. Dean’s about ready to give in and pinch himself to make sure he’s not sleeping when the creature starts _purring._

“I made him.” Cas says quietly, stroking between Silvanus’s eyes almost fondly. “He travels the whole mountain range and protects the entire forest where I can’t. It took him all of yesterday and the whole night to get here.”

“Why is he here?”

“He sensed that I was hurt and he came to check on me and defend me, if necessary.”

“That’s – yeah, that’s great.” Dean presses his lips together, not really sure what to say to that. He could apologize again, but he has the feeling that Silvanus won’t accept it.

Dean ends up standing there awkwardly while Cas speaks to Silvanus again. More than once he hears his name in between the weird Enochian syllables.

He wonders if he’s going to have bruises on his back from Silvanus’s three-pronged alien feet. Maybe he should ask Cas to take a look later today or something, see if anything’s forming. He’s not going to be looking for pity or anything, but he’d like to know if he’s going to be able to go shirtless in front of Bobby or John in the next week or not - if he happens to be around either of them then.

Silvanus suddenly snorts and shakes his head, leaves and vines rustling. He steps away from Cas and if Dean didn’t know better he’d say the big ass beast is _stomping_ over to the left side of the house where he lays down and full on _glares_ at Dean, wooden face creaking as he narrows his eyes.

“He’s supposed to be patrolling the northern region right now but he refuses to leave while you’re still here.” Cas’s sigh is full of frustration. He looks at Dean and that too familiar frown is in place again. “Why did you come back?”

“To make sure you’re okay.” Dean doesn’t look away from Silvanus for long – a little too paranoid that the beast is just waiting for a chance to pounce.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll believe that when I check out your ankle and the stitches. Oh, and I brought breakfast.”

Cas huffs and starts limping back toward his lair. Dean follows, hesitating only slightly when Silvanus lifts his head to watch him. When he’s inside, Silvanus is still watching him through the ‘kitchen’ window and Dean is severely creeped out. He’s not looking forward to the walk back to the trailer. If Silvanus doesn’t kill him, Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to be stalked every step of the way.

Cas settles down on the couch again and there’s a clay pot next to him. He ignores Dean completely and folds his wing forward. Dean gets closer and watches as he dips his fingers into the pot, coating them in a sweet smelling oil that he starts working into his feathers.

“What are you doing?”

“Preening.”

Dean stifles a snort. “What for?”

“It helps to waterproof my feathers.” Cas looks up and something like resignation flickers on his face. He still doesn’t look happy about the next words that the says. “I’m going to need your help with applying the oil to my broken wing.”

He raises his eyebrows and almost grins. “Oh? You finally coming to terms with me helping you?”

“You’re the one who broke it.” Cas snaps back and rakes his fingers through his feathers sharply.

Silvanus’s growl from the window is enough for Dean to know not to tease on the subject further. He shrugs off his jacket and hangs it on one of the mat racks, taking the bag of rolled oats and the cinnamon out of his pockets first.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“I ate some more bread.”

“You got anything else you could eat?” Dean heads to the fire pit and leaves his supplies next to it while he starts up another fire.

“Vegetables, eggs –.”

 “Where are they?” Dean cuts him off. That’s more than enough for him to work with. He moves the pot over the fire. It’s way too big for just a bowl or two of oatmeal, but it’ll have to do.

Cas tell him where the hole that makes up his root cellar is dug and covered in the back of the cave. He gets a green pepper, an onion and a couple non-glowing mushrooms from it. The eggs are down there too and he gets all that while he roots around in the cave for an empty clay pot big enough to carry water to the fire pit. He finds something like a frying pan on one of the shelves and uses that and a jar of what Cas claims is vegetable oil to cook up an omelet as the oatmeal cooks.

By the time the food is ready, Cas is done with his wing. Dean moves the pot out of the way and brings him the rest of the water in the clay pot to wash his hand in. He resolutely ignores the weird stomach flip that happens when Cas looks both surprised and pleased with the food when Dean brings it to him.  

And if he grins when Cas thanks him for the meal, then it’s only because he’s never really cooked for anyone besides Sammy before and it’s a little refreshing to know he doesn’t completely suck at something. He and John usually eat at diners or have prepackaged food when they’re hunting together. Bobby cooks more, but it’s usually something quick and easy to make – things Dean perfected while cooking for Sammy before he was ten years old.

Silvanus doesn’t stop being a peeping tom and he watches Dean the entire time through the window. It’s creepy and Dean finds himself scrambling to think of a way to extend his time here in the lair to put off having to go into the forest and be out in the open where Silvanus could get the t-rex drop on him again.

“Alright.” Dean clears the dishes after Cas is done. “Tell me what I have to do with this wing of yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Agrimony: thankfulness


	6. Cooking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re just stalling so you don’t have to tell your father that you failed to kill the Angel that you were supposed to be hunting.”
> 
> Dean flinches so hard he nearly drops the jar in his hands. That one hit a little He doesn’t bother asking how Cas knows. He’s dropped enough hints and if Cas knows the Winchester name than Dean’s sold himself out with one word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> Whenever we get fanart, there will be a _(NEW)_ next to that section. Be sure to go check them out!
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches)

Cas lifts his arms out of the way and leans to one side for Dean to get at rope knotted around his chest to keep his wing pinned in place. He doesn’t make a sound when his wing shifts away from his back, but his shoulders do get a little straighter and Dean winces for him. Credit given where credit due; once he’s stretched out on the floor on his stomach, Cas doesn’t make a sound while Dean guides his wing to stretch out across the floor.

A growl from the window tells him Silvanus is still being a peeping tom extraordinaire and Dean is fighting the urge not to look up and salute him. If he wants to get back to the trailer in one piece, it would probably be best not to antagonize the giant beast that nearly bit the back off his neck. That reminds him to have Cas check for bruises on his back once he’s done with this wing business.

“Okay. Is this good?” Dean steps back from the wing. It looks like it’s fully extended from where Cas is laying closer to the door and all the way across the floor to the opening of the cave.

“As long as you can reach the feathers it will be fine.” Cas’s cheek is pillowed against his left arm, his right laying tucked along his side under his wing. He’s doing that creepy staring thing and pretty much watching every move Dean makes. “Now get the oil from the pot and spread it through the feathers.”

Dean steps around the wing carefully and drags the pot over by Cas’s hip. He’ll start from the outside in so he doesn’t spend the whole length of the wing being weirded out about getting closer to bare legs and almost bare back and no – that’s an Angel. One that he tried to kill yesterday. Dean Jr. shouldn’t get any say on his thoughts right now. It’s beyond inappropriate and just, no. He just needs to remind himself that Cas is a grumpy dick who lives alone because he’s a grumpy dick and Dean’s only here to take care of all the shit he fucked up.

His next trip to town can’t come soon enough. He seriously needs to get laid.

“Don’t let the oil clump on the feathers.” Cas murmurs, watching Dean over his shoulder and the edge of his wing. “You can leave the feathers hidden by the splint for now. Just spread it through like you did yesterday when you were removing the oil.”

“I hope you see the irony in this.”

“Should I?” Cas’s voice goes strained and his eyes fall shut when Dean starts by working the oil into the downy feathers around the joint on his back and spreading out.

He snorts and doesn’t bother answering, working carefully around the splinted bone and slicking up his fingers whenever they drag on the feathers. From this position it’s really hard to get at all the smaller feathers on the underside, but Cas takes it like a champ when Dean lifts his wing slightly to stick his hand under it and basically go by touch.

It’s not until the seventh handful that Dean even thinks to ask. “This isn’t like the vegetable oil I cooked with. What is it?”

“Wing oil.”

Dean barely manages to suppress an eye roll. “I kinda figured that on my own. What’s it from?”

The way Cas doesn’t answer and his other wing twitches raises all sorts of weird red flags. Dean sits back on his heels, holding his hands out so he doesn’t get the stuff on his clothes. Cas has his eyes open again and Dean raises an eyebrow at him. The “Well?” goes unspoken and he reaches for the pot to pull it closer as he shuffles further down the wing.

“It’s biological in origin.”

He hesitates before dipping his fingers in again. “You mean it’s from an animal?”

“No.”

“An insect?”

Cas closes his eyes again and turns his head to face the other way. “No.”

“What the hell else is there? Fish?”

“No.”

Dean grits his teeth and counts to ten. “Don’t you start that one word bullshit again. I’ve got this crap all over my hands, so tell me what the hell it is!”

“It’s an oil secreted from the uropygial gland.”

“Cas, just tell me before I dump the whole pot over your head and set fire to your house.” Dean grips the edges of the pot and lifts it into his lap to make his point. “I have a lighter and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Cas turns his head back and the glare is out in full force this afternoon. Dean isn’t surprised and he wiggles the pot suggestively. “Out with it.”

“Me.” Cas hisses, the feathers on his wings puffing up and he almost looks embarrassed. “The gland is located under the joints on my back. It’s annoying to keep reaching back for it and I can use the oil to waterproof the mats as coverings for the windows so I collect it.”

Dean opens and closes his mouth. He looks from Cas’s back to the pot and then his face. His mouth does the thing again and then he puts the pot down. His stomach is doing a weird clenching thing where he can’t tell if he’s grossed out or going to be sick. This stuff came from Cas. From Cas. Oh Jesus Christ, it’s as good as having shoved his hand into a pot full of spunk.

“Oh.” He resists wiping his hands on his shirt and giving a full body shudder.

Cas huffs and starts pushing himself up onto his elbows. “It obviously disgusts you. You’re welcome to stop and I’ll just get Silvanus to finish.”

He snorts and looks up at the window. Silvanus has his chin resting on the bottom edge of the window and he growls as soon as Dean looks at him. “And how exactly would Captain Cruciferous get through the door? How would he do it without crushing the ever loving shit out of your wings?”

Cas’s lips press into a thin line and he doesn’t answer. Dean waves his hand and does his damnedest to ignore the shine on his fingers. It’s oil, not jizz. It’s not that different from milk – except that he’s not going to eat it. Milk comes from what’s basically a cow boob, right? If he can drink cow-boob-juice, he can have oil – a perfectly natural, waxy kinda oil on his hands. It’s not like it came outta Cas’s dick or his chest or anything. It’s the same kinda glands that birds have, right? So it’s not really all that weird.

No. It’s pretty fucking weird.

Dean takes a deep breath and shoves his hand back into the pot. He’s going to attribute the goosebumps on his arms to the spring chill in the air and not what he’s not going to think about. “We’re going to finish this with me blissfully pretending that I’m not covering my hands in your bodily excretions and we are never going to talk about this ever again, got it?”

“I don’t foresee us speaking very often beyond whenever you feel like you’ve atoned for attacking me unprovoked.”

“Not the point here, dude.” Dean puts his hands back on the feathers and Cas full on flinches, sucking in a startled breath and everything. He immediately pulls back, despite not having his hands anywhere near the break. “Sorry, did that hurt?”

Silvanus growls again and Dean really does flip him the bird this time without even looking. Cas shakes his head and his back goes from rigid to slack again. “No, it didn’t. I was unprepared for you to simply – it’s fine. Continue.”

Dean does, cautiously. It takes a good hour before he’s done, top and bottom and Cas spends all of it watching him. He doesn’t even have the decency to try and pretend that he didn’t get caught looking when Dean glances up and meets his eyes. It’s enough for Dean to not even try to make conversation. The sooner he finishes with Cas’s wing, the sooner he can tie his wing up again and wash his hands a million times over.

He pinches his fingers down the length of the longest feather at the very end of Cas’s wing and sits back on his heels again. His knees are killing him and since he spent most of the morning crawling around in the dirt and the beginning of the afternoon doing the same, it’s really not surprising. He throws his hands in the air, links his fingers together – ignoring the squish of the oil between them – and stretches until his back gives a pop so satisfying he outright groans.

After a quick rundown to make sure all the feathers aren’t askew or anything – Dean is ninety-eight percent positive Cas would bitch about it if they were – he starts gently guiding the wing to fold up. Cas doesn’t move until Dean is squatting next to him, holding the wing to his back while he slowly gets to his knees. He passes Dean the rope to tie bind the wing to his torso again. Dean’s fingers slip on the rope a bit and it takes a few tries to tie the knot tight enough that it doesn’t come undone on its own.

“Am I allowed to wash my hands in that spring in the back or do I have to do that somewhere else?” He asks while helping Cas up.

Cas staggers a bit before he balances properly, good wing spreading and folding repeatedly. It makes Dean wonder how much of an Angel’s balance is dependent on their wings. “I’d prefer if you didn’t. Just use the water I washed my hands in before lunch.” He gestures at the clay pot of water Dean left at one end of the couch. “If you need soap, there’s ground Amole in a covered bowl on the third shelf to the left.”

“Ground what and where?”

Huffing, Cas starts limping toward the cave and Dean immediately steps in front of him. “Go sit. Get off that foot. I’ll find this bowl thing.”

He gets a narrow eyed glare before Cas steps back to the couch and sinks onto it. From there he directs Dean to where the tub is. “No, the third shelf – the third. That’s the sixth. Why are you starting from the bottom? Clearly I’m referring to the top. Yes, that one – No, the bowl. The – Dean. The bowl – yes, it’s the only one with a lid.”

Cas has hand over his face and he’s muttering in Enochian under his breath by the time Dean comes back with the small round container. It’s full pulped plant and Cas explains how it’s something called ‘soap root’ and all Dean has to do is take a little of it in his hand, add water and rub it together to make a foam. It does just as it’s supposed to and Dean puts the container back where he found it once his hands are finally clean.

“For the record, you’re keeping your bodily excretions to yourself from here on out.” Dean puts the lid on the pot of wing oil and gingerly carries it to where Cas tells him it’s supposed to go in the cave. “I’m not touching this shit again.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to. The less you touch me, the better.”

“Good.”

Cas hums and stares across the room at Silvanus. The big beast makes a grumbling noise and Cas huffs, and the corner of his mouth twitches. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d almost say that was a smile. Either way, it’s gone in a blink and Cas look up at him.

“Are you going to continue bothering me now?”

“Depends.” Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels as he looks around the room. “What were you going to do for the rest of the day?”

The frown is damn near audible. “I have chores I need to do.”

“Like what?”

He can practically feel the irritation rolling off of Cas and Dean really shouldn’t feel as gleeful about that as he does. It almost feels like he’s teasing Sammy again and it feels good. Though maybe, since Cas seems a whole lot less in pain now than he did yesterday, he shouldn’t be messing with the Angel with the magical forest mojo. Cas doesn’t say anything and Dean looks at the kettle on the wooden shelf by the fire pit.

“Hey, d’you need more of that painkilling tea?”

“I made some this morning. It’s fine to drink it cold.”

“Want me to get you a cup?” Dean offers, a weak attempt to placate him so Cas doesn’t kick him out of the house where Silvanus can get his pronged alien feet all over him.

Cas looks up at him with that steady see-into-your-soul stare that Dean is getting way too used to way too fast. He brushes it off with a raised eyebrow and a tilt of his head toward the kettle. When he nods, giving a world weary sigh that sounds just a little too over the top for Dean’s liking, Cas’s shoulders slump.

The bread basket is open and empty next to the kettle and Dean eyes it while pouring the tea. “Hey, what other kinds of food do you have?”

“What does it matter?”

“Are you going to have enough to eat?”

“Yes.” Cas accepts the cup and crinkles his nose at the tea. “It tastes worse when it’s cold. I was going to make a stew this afternoon to last me the next few days and make some more bread.”

Dean turns on his heel and heads into the cave. “Okay, what do you need?”

Cas doesn’t say anything and Dean looks back over his shoulder. “What?”

“Shouldn’t you be removing the traps and leaving?”

He hides his wince but pretending to rummage through containers and jars on shelves, opening them up and sniffing at the contents. “If you make me use that ‘I’m responsible’ line again, I’m going to throw something at your head – forest guardian or not forest guardian. You need to stay off that foot and you can barely use one of your arms. Just shut up and let me help you. Besides –” Dean turns around to flash Cas a grin and a cheeky wink. “Not everyone gets the Dean Winchester service set, so count yourself lucky. There’s all of two people in the world I’d stick around to take care of, so this is kind of a special occasion.”

“You’re just stalling so you don’t have to tell your father that you failed to kill the Angel that you were supposed to be hunting.”

Dean flinches so hard he nearly drops the jar in his hands. That one hit a little  He doesn’t bother asking how Cas knows. He’s dropped enough hints and if Cas knows the Winchester name than Dean’s sold himself out with one word.

“Yeah, well, it’s either me sticking around here while I try and figure out what to tell him, or I tell him and he comes up here to finish the job while you’re still out for the count.” Dean puts the jar back on the shelf and steps out of the cave to grab the clay pot with the water he washed his hands in. He doesn’t look at Cas as he takes it to the door and dumps it. “I won’t kill an innocent, but he will. And he’ll do worse if he finds out you actually talk.”

“I’m aware.”

“No, you’re really not.”

Cas tilts back the last of his tea and Dean snags it on his way by with the empty pot. “I used to be a soldier, Dean. I was one for a very long time and I am well aware of what Angels and Humans and all manners of beings are capable of doing. Especially when information is the goal.”

“And you’re okay with that? You still looking to die?”

Silvanus’s roar nearly sends him tripping over his own feet because damn. It sounds like every dinosaur movie he’s ever seen and it scares the fuck out of him. Cas makes an annoyed sound and starts talking in Enochian while Silvanus talks back with groans and growls and grumbles. Dean ignores them both and takes the pot to the spring.

He knows how to make a stew, he’s helped Bobby more times than he can count. After the pot is rinsed out – the excess dumped in a corner where he didn’t see anything of importance nearby, Dean fills it and sets it aside. They’re still talking to each other when he comes back out of the cave and Cas only shuts up as he fills the metal pot hanging over the fire.

Dean can feel Cas watching him again, but Cas doesn’t say anything until the fire is lit. He sighs again and Dean looks up to see him getting to his feet again. Instead of hobbling around the room, Cas just makes a ‘come hither’ gesture that Dean frowns at but follows anyways. With Cas leaning against him and both of them ignoring the huff from the window, they go into the cave.

Cas leans his hip against a shelf and takes a basket from another. They fall into the easy pattern of give an order, follow it. Dean gets a bunch of vegetables from what he’s just going to start calling the ‘root cellar’ and drops those into the basket Cas holds against his hip. It’s like some horribly annoying version of hide and go seek when it comes to finding all the other things Cas needs.

There’s a half used bag of flour tucked far back into a cubby hole and Dean drags that out to put next to Cas. He’s sent back again to find barley, and bay leaves, garlic, sugar, salt, pepper and a half dozen other ingredients that he assumes is all going to be for season. Everything but the barley is in small jars and they all get added to the basket.

And that’s all just for the stew. Dean takes all that out to the fire-pit while Cas gets down another basket. This one he fills with the things for the bread, including a jar of honey with a lid carved to look like a bee, and he has Dean leave them on a rock shelf the merges into a wood shelf at the edge of the cave. There’s all sorts of little cooking things; knives, stirring sticks, a bowl with a little club sitting in it and other neat shit that Dean’s not used to seeing in a kitchen – because that is undoubtedly exactly what this is.

During his foray into the pantry a la Castiel, Dean uncovers one treasure that has him grinning. It’s a covered bowl full of cherries and Cas does that confused head-tilt Dean pointedly doesn’t think is borderline cute when he puts that on the counter next to the other ingredients Cas is pulling out of the basket.

“I’ll help you make your stew and your weird bread, and then I’m going to make you something awesome.” He shrugs and pushes them to the side. “You’ll see later. The water’s starting to boil, what do we do now?”

Cas frowns and looks at the cherries, but he doesn’t press any further and Dean’s glad. It’ll be a nice surprise and his mouth is already starting to water. He helps Cas get settle down by the fire pit and gets the knife and slab of wood Cas uses as a cutting board. While Cas peels the onion slowly, caught up by his busted arm, Dean quickly slices up the other vegetables, dumping them into the pot as he’s done with them.

“You got any measuring spoons or something?” Dean gets up to check the counter when Cas starts taking out the jars of seasonings.

“No.”

“Then how are you going to –”

He starts throwing pinches of powdered garlic and salt and pepper and who knows what else into the pot. “I season to taste. What you can get me is a stir-stick and one of the long-handled spoons so I can taste it.”

Dean gets them without hesitation and he won’t admit that he’s hovering, but he totally is, as he watches Cas cook. There’s no recipe or anything, Cas just keeps stirring and throwing ingredients in and tasting until he’s satisfied and pushes the logs and coals around underneath the pot to lower the temperature. The lid to the pot is hidden on the same shelf Dean found the pan earlier and they cover the stew to let it simmer and thicken.

“Y’know, this is kinda neat.” Dean announces while he’s putting away the ingredients Cas said he won’t need anymore. “It’s like camping, only cooler.”

Cas is at the counter now, standing mostly on one foot while he sorts what he needs to make the bread. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean, whenever I’ve been camping with my dad, it’s while we’ve been on hunts and we usually just it precooked dinners, or take out, or energy bars. We don’t do anything fancy like making a frikken stew over a fire.” Dean shrugs and starts sniffing through jars and covered bowls of things on the shelves he’s identified as the baking ingredients. “By the way, how are you going to bake that bread?”

“You’ll have to get the oven.”

He comes out of the cave with the spices he thinks he can identify by scent alone and puts them by the cherries. “What oven?”

“It’s a clay dome in the cave. You likely mistook it for a rock. We put it over the fire and we’ll be able to back in that.” Cas hobbles after him to get some mixing bowls, ignoring the glare Dean sends his way. “It’s very heavy, so I suggest just rolling it instead of trying to carry it.”

Cas wasn’t kidding. Dean nearly throws out his back trying to lift it after he finds it. There’s a knowing look on Cas’s face when he finally rolls the thing out and Dean is more than happy to pretend that he doesn’t see it. Just like how he pretends he doesn’t see the stink-eye Cas gives him while he steals flour and other ingredients to start making the dough for the pie crust. He has to improvise some of the stuff and he hopes to the ever loving kings of rock and roll that it’s not going to fuck up the crust.

He lets the dough sit while he pokes around in the cave for something suitable to use.

“If you would tell me what you’re making, I might be able to point you in the right direction.”

“You’d rather just point me out the door, so I think not.”

“You wouldn’t leave even if I did.”

“Also true.” Dean grins back at him and selects the pan that’s the closest he’s probably going to get to the kind that he wants. It’s got a handle, but it’ll have to do.

All of this was supposed to be making up for busting Cas’s wing, but he’s actually not having that bad a time. His back and his knees are sore from cleaning up the path and oiling Cas’s feathers and he’s feeling tired already, even though it’s early afternoon. Despite all that and how they’ve barely spoken beyond orders of where and what to get, Dean’s actually been – and he almost doesn’t want to think it in case he jinxes it – he’s actually enjoying himself.

It’s the first time in a long time that he’s actually felt that . It’s a completely inappropriate setting to even be thinking that – but he’s not worried about catching Angels, he’s not on edge about his traps going off or having to patch up his dad if he fucks up, he’s not anything but him right now and it’s kinda, sorta, really nice. Hell, he’d call it a little slice of Heaven if he got out his tape player, put on his head phones and listened to some Zepplin while mixing the cherry filling.

He does the next best thing and hums while he mashes the cherries with the club and the bowl. Cas’s weird bread dough is already spread out in another pan – and Dean realizes he probably just doesn’t own a proper baking pan – and it’s his turn to hover. Though it’s more leaning against the corner of the counter and watching intently every move that Dean makes, than it is ‘hovering’.

“What are you making?”

Dean raises an eyebrow and crooks a smile. “Are you seriously telling me you can’t guess what this is just by looking at it?”

Cas levels him with a deadpan stare that is all the answer he needs and Dean doesn’t even know how to respond. All the more evident by the start-stop words that try and get out through the jaw drop that is doing nothing to help what little reputation he’s garnered with Cas. It takes several attempts and more than a few deep breaths to gather himself enough to speak words he never thought he’d have to save to an actual living person.

“You don’t know –”Another deep breath. “- what pie is?”

“Oh, you’re making a pie. I’m familiar with the term, but I don’t believe I’ve had one.” Cas looks down at the mess of ingredients. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

They spend the next hour playing with the spices for the filling until Cas actually likes the taste while Dean shows him how to line the pan with half the dough. Cas uses a knife left handed – and Dean really isn’t surprised to find out that he’s ambidextrous – to cut the dough that Dean flattened into strips. Cas scoops the filling out of the bowl Dean holds and he gets a little creative with twisting the strips before laying them over the pie.

“That is one fine looking pie.” Dean grins at Cas, not surprised to find him staring again. Only this time his eyes are different. They’re not hard and calculating. Maybe a little softer around the edges? It’s hard to tell but Dean likes it. “I bet she’s going to taste great! Is the stew done enough to cook the bread?”

He’s maybe more than a little envious when Cas taste tests the stew, checking for consistency and more than Dean will ever know. It smells so good and he hasn’t eaten since breakfast. Just because he likes to cook doesn’t mean he knows all the terms that go with it. He just does the stuff that needs to be done to get to the goal of delicious foods in his mouth and in his belly.

“Yes, this is satisfactory.” Cas puts the lid back on the stew. “You’ll need to remove it entirely from the stand. The branches come apart –” He explains while Dean carries out the instructions, moving the pot to the stone counter in the mean time.

The clay oven fits nicely just inside the circle of stones that rings the fire pit. With the front of it open, Castiel shows Dean how to push the coals and logs to line the inside edge of the oven. It means he’s down on his knees again and it’s annoying as hell, but he manages to make enough room for a pan and kick up the fire again.

Cas’s bread goes in first and they shut the door. Dean sets the timer on his watch even though Cas insists it’s not necessary and that they’ll be able to tell when it’s done simply from the smell. He sends Cas to the couch and starts cleaning up the mess, washing out the bowls by the front door with water from the clay pot. Silvanus creeps around the wall and growls at him the whole time and Dean sticks his tongue out at him once before ducking back inside with all the clean dishes and things.

“You never hold still for very long, do you?” Cas observes from the couch while Dean puts everything away in their appropriate places on the cave shelves.

“I have my moments.” Dean shrugs while wiping down the counter with a wet cloth he’d found on a cubby piled with all kinds of fabric – must be clothes and things that Cas trades mats for at his clan. “Trust me, if I wasn’t taking care of your ass I’d be wasting away in that trailer. I’ve spent three weeks crammed in a tin can waiting for something to happen and not doing anything right now wouldn’t sit right with me.” He gestures at the pot of stew. “You want me to bring you a bowl of that?”

Cas shakes his head and hugs a knee to his chest. For a dude wearing a fur skirt and leather panties, it’s not the best of positions to be sitting in and Dean turns away hastily. “I would rather wait for the bread to be done. You’ll need that cloth to hold the pan when you take it out.” He tilts his head back to sniff the air. “Another few minutes and it should be ready.”

Dean checks his watch and Cas is freakishly right.

The bread cools on the counter while Dean shoves the pie in the oven and sets his watch again. After dropping honey on the bread and spreading it in a thin coat with one of the stir stick, it’s ready for cutting and Dean cuts it like he’d seen it in the bread basket. The only utensils Dean finds are for cooking – spoons and forks with too long handles that he uses to fill a bowl.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Cas asks, accepting the bowl and the slices of bread Dean brings him.

That startles him. Dean didn’t really think he’d eat anything except for maybe a slice of pie before he makes a run back to the trailer – looking over his shoulder the whole time for Silvanus. He’s not sure what his face says in response, but Cas’s answering frown skirts the edge of scary.

“Dean, you helped to make the food. You’re more than welcome to partake in it.”

His stomach answers for him and Dean gets himself a bowl too, settling on the other end of the couch. Cas drinks the stew from the bowl like it’s a cup and Dean mimics him, burning his tongue the first time he does it and he swears under his breath. The honey-pizza-bread is good, bland except for the honey and even if the stew is meatless, it’s pretty damn flavourful and Dean ends up wiping the bowl down with the last bite of his bread to get all the broth.

“That was awesome, Cas.” He takes the bowls back to the counter and checks on the pie. “Hell, it’s better than Bobby’s three meat surprise.”

“Is Bobby your father? The person you were speaking to on the phone?”

Another five minutes and the pie should be done. Dean takes the bowls to the door to clean them. “He’s more like an uncle, actually. Just a really good friend of the family.” He ignores the laser beam eyes from Silvanus again. “By the way, he does know about you. I didn’t tell him everything, but he guessed that I was dealing with an Angel.”

“And?”

“And nothing. He’s going to keep you a secret as much as I am from dad.” Dean flicks some water at Silvanus and if he expects to be going home tonight, he should really stop teasing the beast that nearly broke his back. “Bobby’s a good guy and he agreed that since you don’t cause shit with us, we shouldn’t cause shit with you. Which means good things for you – he’s the hub of the hunter network and he won’t be sending anyone up this way again, signs or no signs.”

Cas’s wing flaps lightly against his back and his eyes get a little wider before he dips his head. “Thank you. I appreciate your efforts to keep me from having to move from my home.”

Dean feels his face get warm and embarrassment curls in his chest. He shrugs again and pulls the pie from the oven.

“It smells good.” Cas says, his chin on his knee. “You’ll have some too, won’t you?”

He flashes him a wide grin. “Pie is just about my most favourite thing in the world next to Sammy. I’ll never turn it down.”

“What is a ‘Sammy’?”

Dean laughs and explains who Sammy is. He really shouldn’t be telling an Angel – let alone one who admitted to being a former soldier – about his family, but he gets caught up in talking about his little brother and just how fucking smart he is. They work through half the pie between them while Dean tells Cas how Sam got into Stanford first go with a damn good score and that he’s there entirely on scholarships, lodgings and everything already paid for. He knows Cas doesn’t understand half of what he’s talking about, but Cas keeps nodding and eating the cooled pie with his fingers, watching Dean while he talks with his hands and launches into how Sam wants to be a lawyer for Angel Rights – and he stops talking then.

“I take it that your brother’s decision is a sore spot in the family?” Cas tilts his head, squinting at Dean in the dim light.

Shit, he didn’t even realize how late it was getting. The afternoon is giving way to early evening and the sun is already starting to dip behind the mountains. He should get going if he wants to make it back to the trailer before the dark sets in. The deeper the shadows in the room get, the more moss on the logs starts to glow and Dean finds it easier to watch that than answer Cas’s question.

Instead he tells Cas about how he cleaned the oil up this morning. It gets him the closest thing to a smile he’s seen yet and Cas reaches across the couch to take the plate his pie had been on.

“You’ve done more today than I have. Rest for a moment. I can handle putting these dishes away.”

Dean wants to object but his back and his knees tell him to shut up. He nods and sinks back into the straw stuffed mats that make up the back of the couch. They’re not the most comfortable thing he’s ever felt, but after everything he’s done today they feel pretty damn good. He slides to his side and stretches out, legs narrowly missing the stump with the branch-and-stones decoration on it.

Cas shuffle-limps around the room and Dean watches him. He watches him until Cas goes into the cave and then he watches the embers through the door of the oven. The heat doesn’t reach all the way across the room, but Dean still feels pretty warm and the air smells like fresh cherry pie. Dean is warm and relaxed – like he managed to take a little vacation away from his life today.

It feels awesome.

Even with Silvanus’s weird glowing blue eyes still watching him through the window.

He doesn’t mean to close his eyes. Well he did, but it was only so he wouldn’t have to see those freaky eyes staring at him. Once they’re closed and everything is dark and warm and more relaxing than it has any right being, Dean finds it really hard to open them again. He hears Cas come back and he should really open his eyes right then because it’s definitely not a good idea to falls asleep on the couch of an Angel he tried to kill yesterday.

But something heavy gets pulled over his shoulders and it just gets warmer and Dean really is super tired.

“Rest, Dean.” Cas murmurs somewhere above him, closer than he thought it would be but his voice is moving away. “You’re safe here.”

He shouldn’t do it, but he does. Dean lets go and sinks into another night of deep sleep and warm smells that almost remind him of a home he lost when he was four years old.


	7. Learning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hell no. As long as that t-rex wannabe is outside, there is no way Dean is taking a step out of this house that takes him farther than the piss-patch around the corner. He’s not going out there alone, at least. What’s to stop the creepy bastard from trying to take a chomp out of him? Cas may be walking around properly now, but he’s still got a broken wing and a fucked up arm. There’s no way he would be able to reach Dean if the beast attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. Give her some love for her wonderful art pieces that really make the story. ♥
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use)  
> 

That goddamn tyrannosaurus roar wakes him and Dean nearly pisses his pants before he’s upright. He goes for his gun and stops, blinking blearily at the spot over his ribs where his colt should be but quite clearly isn’t. It’s not just his colt – his favourite gun, for the record – or the holster missing. It’s his whole damn over shirt. He’s in his t-shirt, jeans and socks and even his boots are gone. A cursory run down also finds – or rather, _doesn’t_ – that all three of his knives aren’t there.

A whole barrage of swears go through his head, the most common of which starts with an ‘f’ and ends with an ‘uck’ and a possible ‘ing’ and is usually preceded with a ‘mother’. He can be creative when he wants to be, but right now he’s a little too freaked out about waking up in an _Angel’s_ house _weaponless_. And without his flannel he kinda feels a little naked.

Cas is sitting cross-legged by the fire pit, his arm still in the sling. Somehow the oven is flipped over and out of the way. The stew is back on the tree hooks and it’s making the whole place smell delicious again, heated up over coals.

“I told Silvanus not to do that, but he insisted you were sleeping too late. It made him uncomfortable.”

“Where’s my stuff?”

He gestures over his shoulder with the spoon he’s using to stir the stew. “With your jacket. You were being annoying after you fell asleep last night. I had to remove them for you to stop grumbling and tossing and turning.”

Sure enough, all his shit is piled neatly under where his coat is hanging on a mat frame. Silvanus makes some kind of huffing noise and Dean turns a glare on the wooden face in the window. He’s not sure how a face carved out of the ass end of a tree manages to look _smug_ , but that’s the feeling he gets from the creaking fucker. The huffing sound is probably fucking _laughter_. Dean flips him the bird and starts pulling on his stuff.

He’s tying up the laces of his boots when Cas comes over. It’s a double take kind of moment when he realizes Cas is walking without a limp and his ankle isn’t bound. Cas has two steaming bowls of stew in his hands and he holds one out to Dean, a couple slices of bread sticking out of one side.

“You slept all morning, it’s lunch time now.” He explains, smoothly dropping into another cross-legged sit without spilling a drop. “If you need to go, you can after you eat.”

Oh, _hell_ no. As long as that t-rex wannabe is outside, there is no way Dean is taking a step out of this house that takes him farther than the piss-patch around the corner. He’s not going out there alone, at least. What’s to stop the creepy bastard from trying to take a chomp out of him? Cas may be walking around properly now, but he’s still got a broken wing and a fucked up arm. There’s no way he would be able to reach Dean if the beast attacked.

“He’s not going to attack you, Dean.” Cas is looking at him with a _knowing_ expression.

It’s rubbing Dean the wrong way – and he already woke up badly. It’s shit enough that he slept so late – let alone let his guard drop _that_ badly in the house of someone who should, technically, be considered an enemy. And on top of that he was woken in pretty much the most heart-stopping way he’s ever been – that says a lot, since he fell out of a bunk-bed once while he was sleeping.

There’s at least three different questions on his tongue and they’re all trying to get out. He manages a grunt and puts his bowl down. Now that Cas went and called attention to it, it’s been hours since he last took a piss and his bladder is setting of fireworks that spell ‘ _finally_ ’ all across his gut. Silvanus doesn’t move from the window when Dean goes to the door, brushing aside the  hanging vines. Turning left, he follows the wall of the lair to the corner where the trees grow tight against the rocks, moss and who knows what else filling the cracks.

In the corner is a kind of rock garden with stepping stones and everything. The sand patch is lined with stones and then there are plots of potent wild flowers planted along the stepping stones and the stone wall. Dean steps up to it and unzips. After using this patch a few times yesterday, it still feels weird to piss out in the open and then kick sand over it like he’s a frikken cat. One of the questions he is firmly _not_ asking Cas is what the hell he does with the piss-clumps. Because that is too weird for words.

He washes his hands in the pot of water by the cave when he gets back and they eat in silence for the few beats before Dean can’t hold it in anymore. “Dude, what happened to your ankle?”

“I healed it.”

“I thought you were too hurt for that?”

Cas fixes Dean with a flat look and there’s a snort from the window. “When I was originally injured I was in too much pain to focus. With the help of the tea and meditation, I was able to focus long enough to heal my ankle. A sprain was simple. It’s fractures that take longer.”

Dean glances at his bandaged wing and fights the surge of guilt in his chest. “How long will that take?”

“Weeks.”

Fuck. He can’t wait around here that long to look after Cas. It’s not like he promised he was going to hang around the whole time – just long enough until Cas can take care of himself. Which it looks like he can. Which means Dean should just _go_. Go and take down all those traps, back up, and get the hell out of dodge. He could head back to Bobby’s and they could brainstorm together what to tell John about this colossal failure of a hunt.

He mumbles an apology around the lip of the bowl and tries not to fidget like a guilty child. Even though he is guilty because he’s the one who fucked up Cas’s wing in the first place. “So where did you sleep last night? Did you manage to get up into your nest?”

“No.” Cas gestures at a space closer to the fire pit. “I pulled down some spare mats and slept on those.”

It’s more uncomfortable silence until Cas gets up and comes back with plates of pie. Dean wants to slap himself when he realizes he kinda wishes that it was yesterday again. It wasn’t so uncomfortable or awkward then and he’s not really sure what changed between now and last night. Is it because he invited himself for a sleepover (completely by accident)? Or is it the sorta sour mood he’s in because Cas’s all power Guardian of the Forest is a giant douchenozzle?

Dean should say that he’s gonna get out of Cas’s hair, Silvanus be damned, but instead he gestures around the room. “You got anything you need me to do? I could put the oven away?”

Cas turns to look at him again, eyes all narrowed and a few of those purple flowers sprout out along the edge of the couch. Didn’t he call them something? Started with an ‘L’. Lilacs? Lilies? No. _Lavender_. One grows next to his foot and Dean tries not to shift away from it.

“Are you still set and taking care of me?”

He shrugs. “If you got shit to do that you can’t do with your arm or wing busted like that, then why not let me do it? It’s not like Captain Cruciferous can come in to help out.” Dean looks at the window and Silvanus lifts his head a bit. “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. You’re just _big boned_.”

The growl he gets in return is almost worth it.

“Don’t insult him.”

“Well tell him to stop treating me like an infection!”

“Stop it. You’re not children.”

“We’re not acting like _children_. Are we, Sil?”

Another growl and Cas turns a glare on the window, saying something in Enochian that makes Silvanus snort and shake his head. The leaves on the branches growing out of his forehead rustle and a couple fall, settling on the ‘kitchen’ floor before he ducks out of sight.

“Did he leave?”

“No, he’s sulking. He doesn’t like it when I scold him.” Cas gets up again and Dean follows him. “If you’re going to insist on staying around again today, I would like to bake more bread.” He pauses when handing his dish over to Dean, and he looks at the unfinished mat hanging from the rack under Dean’s coat. “Can you bake while I work?”

Dean raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder too. “Sure?”

“Thank you. Dealing with the spring thaw and now being injured has put me behind in my work.” Cas walks past him and Dean sets about taking care of the dishes.

“That’s going to be going to your clan, right?”

Cas tosses Dean’s coat onto the couch and starts checking all the fibers threaded together already. “Yes. I take orders during the summer gathering and bring them back the following year.”

“Are you the only mat weaver or something? Seems weird that they’d order a _mat_ a year ahead of time.” The clean dishes go back on their shelf in the cave and Dean starts finding the ingredients again and putting them in a basket.

“These are decorative and the patterns have meaning.” Cas almost sounds insulted. “And I have access to the best materials so mine are usually more coveted.”

Dean leaves the basket on the counter to get the fire pit set up. “What, they don’t have forests wherever the hell your clan is? And no, that’s not me trying to find out where they are.”

Cas’s wings de-puff and Dean almost laughs. The one had flared the moment Dean had started to say ‘where-’, even though Cas never glanced at him once. He leaves the mat to go into the cave. “They do, but I grow my own supplies. They’re stronger, the colours more vibrant, and the product lasts longer.”

“That’s actually kinda cool.” Dean gets the fire going in the oven while Cas carries the bales of his mat materials out of the cave, refusing Dean’s help when he offers.

Their conversation slips into the odd question about the designs on the mats – like the one hanging on the wall almost directly above where Dean is working. Cas refuses to tell him what the symbol means, and that leads into him refusing to say what most of the markings on his body are. They do talk about why Cas has them, and Dean learns that they’re not tattoos and it’s actually a kind of dye paste made out of – unsurprisingly – plants.

Apparently the marking on his left forearm made up of little lines that wiggle and curve is something that he makes up while he’s doing it. It changes every time he paints it and it all depends on his mood. The six lines on his left thigh are for animals that he’s bonded with – ones that he cared for over the years and have all passed on.

“And what about the bee?” Dean puts the bread in the oven and crosses the room to sit next to Cas, ignoring the huff from the window since Silvanus decided to show his face again. He taps at the marking on his right arm. “There some special meaning for that?”

Cas has his arm out of the sling, but he’s barely moving it, only using his right hand to hold the straw or whatever type of plant it is that he’s using while he weaves it tightly into the rest of the mat with this left hand. His shoulder twitches in what Dean thinks might be a shrug (or it could just be his arm getting tired).

“I like bees.”

Dean snorts and it earns him a scandalized look. “You’re not serious?”

The following lecture on bees and how necessary they are to the environment, and all the useful qualities of their wax and honey lasts until his watch beeps and he makes an escape to save the bread. Dean swaps it out for the next batch and leaves it to cool on the counter while the other bakes and he goes back to watching Cas weave the mat.

It’s a slow and painfully boring process and Dean’s sick of it within minutes. Even listening to Cas hum quietly under his breath isn’t doing much to entertain him. There’s a lot of things he’s curious about, like the rest of Cas’s markings, or why he’s wearing shells on a string attached to the front of his wrap, or how he got the tails of three different animals tied together into one long tail hanging from his hip. There’s more questions about why he’s wearing what looks like – and Dean gets the chills looking at it – a shed snake skin on his left arm. It actually wraps over a design. And he wants to know about the double corded necklace he’s got on with the two feathers hanging from it.

Chances are, though, that Cas wouldn’t tell him anything about that. It would probably put the clan or other Angels in danger if a hunter knew what any of it meant. Honestly, it’s surprising Cas hasn’t poisoned him yet, or tried to kill him in his sleep.

“How come you don’t have any self preservation instincts?”

The question catches them both by surprise and Dean winces, avoiding the narrow eyed glare that gets turned to him by pretending to occupy himself with organize a loose handful of tree bark into piles depending on length. His mouth keeps going and Dean wants to kick himself for it. “I mean, you ran pretty much right away even though you had the advantage.”

“What advantage? I was surrounded by traps and you were heavily armed.”

“We’re in a _forest_ and you have mystical angel mojo that controls _plants_.”

“My powers aren’t instantaneous. I would have been able to incapacitate your mobility, but you had several projectile weapons and could have easily taken me down from a distance. Which you did.” Cas shrugs again and holds his hand out for a piece of bark. “I told you, I was a soldier. I know how to analyze a battle situation and the other day was not entirely in my favour. Running was the most logical course of action.”

Dean snorts and hands over the ones he’s holding. “Whatever you say, Spock. What about rolling over and giving up the moment I caught you?”

Cas’s shoulders tense and his face gets the hard edge to it again. “You were there to kill me, and I was wounded. Fighting back would have worsened the damage. The chances of me dying were incredibly high and I didn’t want it to be painful.”

Silvanus growls loudly from the other side of the room and Cas turns to glare over his shoulder. “You have an entire mountain range to be watching over. Go.”

The growl rumbles loud enough that Dean can feel it in his stomach. It still sends the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and he’s tensed, ready to jump up and fight if he needs to. Cas reverts to Enochian and Dean looks back and forth between them, watching what looks like a really heated argument – well, as heated as Cas seems to get. His voice is still flat and aside from a crinkly forehead, he’s not doing anything. It’s all Silvanus – making huffing noises, growling or roaring back.

“You two fight like an old married couple.”

Cas stops mid-sentence and looks over at him slowly. “We’re… what?”

Dean shrugs and leans back on his hands. “The way you’re fighting. It’s like you’re an old married couple. Hell, Sil’s acting like he’s jealous or something.”

“He’s not jealous. He just doesn’t trust you. Why would he be jealous.”

“Coz’ you’re an old married couple.”

His frown gets deeper. “But we’re not –”

“Whatever, it’s cool.” Dean laughs, snorting at his confusion. “I’m not gonna judge you on how you get your rocks off. If Captain Cruciferous does it for you, that’s cool.”

“I don’t –” Cas looks between him and Silvanus. “I don’t understand what you’re implying.”

That’s almost just as funny and Dean tries not to laugh more. “It’s a joke.”

“I still don’t understand the joke. Explain it to me. What is supposed to be funny?”

And there goes pretty much all of Dean’s amusement. It’s never funny when he has to explain everything. An explanation later and Cas isn’t smiling. If anything, Dean might even go as far as saying that Cas is _blushing_ and he’s shifting uncomfortably, wing fluttering and the other twitching against the bandages.

“It’s not like that at all. I raised Silvanus with my powers and he’s just very protective of me. I’m more a parental figure than anything to him.” Cas turns back to the mat, hunching his shoulders as moving his hand sharply while he’s weaving. “Besides, Silvanus is technically genderless. He doesn’t have any genitalia.”

“Y’know, there’s such a thing as too much information. I could have lived happy _not_ knowing that.”

“You were making the wrong assumptions. I had to correct you.”

“It was a _joke_.”

“I don’t understand why you would even have thought –”

“Dude, _joke_.” Dean flops back against the couch, throwing his arm over his eyes. “I literally don’t care what floats your boat. Girls, guys, Human, Angel, plant creatures you magically gave birth to, whatever it takes to get your rocks off that’s all up to you.”

Like he’s one to judge. The plant-creature thing might be a little too off the deep end for Dean, but the girl-guy dilemma doesn’t matter much to him. He likes girls and he likes guys, even though he hasn’t had much experience with them. A few drunken hand jobs in the bathroom isn’t much to go by, but he definitely appreciates the male figure just as much as he does a woman’s. It’s not something he’s really had the chance to explore because he’s been with John since, well, always. And John really isn’t the most… open minded… of people. He’s good with appreciating from a distance until he finds the right chance to get to explore that side of him a little more.

Cas’s wing curves forward over his shoulder more, like he’s trying to put a barrier between him and Dean. It’s a little weird and for a moment Dean feels irrationally paranoid that Cas is reading his thoughts and he knows that Dean likes guys too and has visually appreciated Cas’s form more than once over the last few days.

There’s a few seconds of awkward silence before Cas mutters under his breath “I don’t have a boat.” and Dean laughs.

“It was a metaphor, Cas.”

His shoulders hunch more and Cas turns his face away, making a show of being interested in the materials on the floor beside him. “My statement still stands. I don’t have a boat.”

Now that stokes Dean’s interest and he sits up again and leans in. “What, oh what, could you mean by that, I wonder? Are you being literal? Or you saying that you’re one of those people who isn’t attracted to anything? Or are you saying –”

“Literal and metaphorical.” Cas snaps his wing out slightly and Dean leans back so he doesn’t get hit, taking the hint. “I don’t have a preference.”

“So you’re like me then? Girls, guys, doesn’t matter.”

Cas shifts again and he’s not even pretending to be focusing on the mat anymore. Instead his hand is on the back of his neck and rubbing at it like he’s nervous or something and he probably is. Dean already knows that Cas doesn’t talk about himself a lot and it’s looking more and more like he’s never had this kind of conversation even back when he was living with his clan - however long ago that was.

He ducks his head and he’s almost hiding behind his wing now. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“What I like. I don’t know.” Cas is fidgeting with a piece of bark, rolling it between his fingers.

Dean’s processing this new information and watching the slow growth of flowers sprouting in a circle around Cas like they’re a barrier between them or something. The green stalks bud and in seconds long white petals uncurl and splay out as a cluster of green stamen things grow in the center. Dean knows these flowers are lilies. They used to be one of his mom’s favourite.

“How don’t you know what you like? Haven’t you –”

“I never had the occasion. It was – I had training starting at a very early age and there was no time between that and the war with the De –” He cuts off and glances at Dean quickly, like he said something he shouldn’t have and wow, that sounded like something interesting enough for Dean to _really_ want to hear it. But it also sounded like something an Angel would hide and sure enough when Cas starts talking again it’s not picking up in the exact same spot he left off - and Dean is only slightly disappointed by that before he focuses on what Cas is saying again.

“There were too many battles and meetings and training the new recruits. Then _it_ –” He sucks in a sharp breath and rubs his hand through his hair. “Then I moved out here and there’s no one – nobody from the clan would have any interest in me.”

Bullshit. 

“Why not? You’re hot – for an Angel.”

Cas lowers his wing and that stare doesn’t get any less unnerving when it’s in surprise.

“What? You can’t tell me you didn’t know you’re attractive.” Dean leans back on his hands again, looking Cas over and maybe taking more pleasure out of the way Cas blushes and his mouth screws up in a kind of pout while he tries shielding himself with his wing again.

“I –” He drops his eyes and starts fiddling with the materials again. “I’ve been told that before. A long time ago. But after – no one’s said it in a long time. Besides, whether or not I’m aesthetically pleasing or not doesn’t matter. I’m a disgrace and no one from my clan or any of the others would have me.”

Dean knows a sensitive topic when he hears it and as curious as he is – oh _Jesus_ is he curious – he steers the conversation away from that little land mine. “So you’re saying in all that time you never had the chance to nest up with another Angel?”

He shakes his head and Dean clues in on the heart of the matter and holy fuck, he doesn’t believe it. “Cas, are you saying you’re a virgin?”

The word actually makes Cas flinch and there’s definitely a pout going on there.

Dean gets up and pats Cas on the shoulder, ignoring the growl from the window like it’s just a normal sound of nature now. “Dude, that’s okay. It’s not weird to be a virgin in your twenties.” He heads back to the section of the lair he’s fully dubbed as ‘the kitchen’ and pours Cas another cup of that nasty tea. He gets himself a cup of water and brings them both back to the mat making area.

Cas accepts the cup without looking up. “I’m not in my twenties, Dean.”

“So your thirties then? That’s fine too. There was the movie a few years ago about this guy’s friends trying to get him to lose his virginity because he was forty. That was pretty funny, actually.”

He sits on the couch properly and lays his arm over the back of it. Chances are Cas doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about, but it’s not going to stop him from reminiscing. Maybe he’ll rent the DVD and watch it with Bobby when he’s done up here. That reminds him that he should probably call him soon and see if he figured out anything to tell John about Cas. Or if he’s got another hunt or something that he can go and do to get out of this place a little faster.

Dean may have said that he wants to stick around to keep helping Cas, but he’s really dragging his heels because there’s nowhere to go after this except back to Bobby’s. And out here, he’s got a little more freedom than he usually does, and he likes it.

He drags his jacket closer, patting at the pockets while Cas bides his time with answering. His pockets are significantly devoid of all things satellite-phone shaped and Dean tries to remember where he had it last. Did he even remember to put it in his pocket before he left yesterday morning? Shit. It’s probably still sitting on the charger back in the trailer.

Silvanus needs to fuck off and go away so Dean can go back to the trailer. He needs a change of clothes. Not to mention that he’d like to use a real bathroom. And he wants to brush his teeth. His mouth feels disgusting and he’s holding off on asking Cas what he does to keep his pearly whites as nice as they are. It probably has something to do with plants and Dean’s getting itchy for meat already and it hasn’t even been forty-eight hours since the last time he had some. Eating like a herbivore is Sam’s department, not he’s. He’s a warrior. He needs his meat. Speaking of - didn’t Cas say he’s a warrior? Why the hell doesn’t he have bacon or something around. That’s something he should ask about too, instead of delving into the Life of Times of the world’s number one hermit Angel.

He’s almost too caught up in his thoughts to notice when Cas speaks again.

“I’m not exactly in my thirties.”

“What do you mean by ‘exactly’? There’s no way you’re in your forties.”

Cas stares down at the cup in his hand. “Humans have known about Angels since before the Dark Ages and you still haven’t learned anything about us, have you? You know nothing about our life spans?”

“You guys are pretty secretive. According to Sam, any information we have about you guys is so tangled up in religion that no one can really tell what’s fact and what’s fiction.” Dean shrugs and tilts back the cup, swallowing.

“I’m one hundred and thirty three years old, Dean.”

And that is the most impressive spray of water Dean’s probably ever had. He’d appreciate it more if he could breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Lavender: distrust  
> \- White Lily: purity


	8. Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not really.” Dean shrugs again and uses his last piece of bread to wipe the bottom of his bowl. “There’s too much for me to think and worry about than knowing where shit I use comes from. As long as I can get it when I need it, then why should I care?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use)  
>  | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty)

At least Cas has the courtesy to look mildly worried while Dean coughs up a lung, or two – possibly three, if they go by just how hard he’s coughing. Cas almost even gets up to move closer and Dean has to wave him off while pounding his sternum with a fist. It takes a few good, solid minutes for Dean to get his breath back and he’s going to just keep on ignoring the huff-laughter from the window.

“A _hundred_ –” Cough. Gasp. Wheeze. Very attractive, Winchester. “– and thirty _three_?” Dean looks at Cas and glances him over. There is no way Cas is more than five times his age. No fucking way. How is that even physically possible? Even turtles look old when they get old. “How long do you assholes live?”

Cas sits back on his heels and he’s doing that frown-pout again. Dean is finding it harder and harder to not find it ridiculously adorable and that just cements his decision. He needs to get out of Cas’s ‘lair’ _today_. Silvanus be damned. He’ll threaten the childish beast if he has to. Something along the lines of “If you don’t leave my ass alone when I try to leave, then I’ll just hang out with Cas for the rest of ever.” Yeah. That should do it.

“Our lives, on average, are close to four –”

“So help me God, if you say ‘four hundred years’ then I’m going to throw this cup at your head.”

“Well you _asked_ –”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you guys to be _freaks of nature_.”

And that right there is Cas’s pissy face. Dean has known the guy all of three days and he can already read the little shifts in his expression. The pissy face comes with a small line between his eyebrows as the pout becomes a frown, and it carries the potential of becoming _really fucking scary_. Scary enough that Cas might earn Angels the smite-you-into-oblivion reputation their Biblical counterparts already carry.

Dean cuts him off when Cas opens his mouth. “Wait, wait, _wait_. Are you saying that you’re _one_ -three-three years old and you’re still a virgin? How is that – I don’t even – _how_?”

Cas’s eyes go all squinty-narrow, increasing the smite-levels dramatically. “I _told_ you. I haven’t had the occasion.”

“I’m not saying it’s a _bad_ thing.” Dean holds up his hands in a kind of surrender, ignoring the growl from the window. “It’s just – I can’t even really – I’m sure living out in the boonies hasn’t helped much. How long have you been out here?”

Turning back to his mat, Cas shrugs and starts weaving again. The little anger lines are bleeding away and Dean thinks it’s that uncomfortable-with-the-topic look that’s setting in now. “Around fifty years or so, give or take a year.”

“Jesus, you’ve lived alone for _fifty_ _years_? That’s not – _why_?”

“I haven’t been alone. There’s Silvanus. And the forest animals that I’ve helped.” He gestures at his outfit and that makes Dean sit forward.

“What do you mean ‘helped’? You ‘helped’ them out of their skin?” Cas gave him an out and Dean’s going to take it. The living-in-the-boonies seems like a topic Dean thinks might be linked to that whole “I’m a disgrace thing.” that Cas mentioned earlier and it raises little red flags while a robot waves its arms screeching “Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!” at him.

Cas spares a glance – no, not a glance, a _glare_. “I found them when they were wounded and cared for them until they were healthy again until the end of their natural lifespan. They gave me their permission to use their pelts once they died. Hamiaah don’t _hunt_.”

“What the hell is hah-meh-ah-hoh?”

His wing flares out in surprise and Cas looks at him sharply. Dean would bet his baby that Cas just name dropped without meaning to. The way his jaw clenches and he looks away again has Dean as gleeful as the day he and Sammy set off fireworks in a field when they were kids. He doesn’t even care about the information. It’s not like he can do anything with the name of a race. It’s getting reactions out of Cas that’s getting him excited and he wonders what other beans he could get him to spill.

“Seriously, what’s hamiaah? Me knowing words isn’t going to put your clan at risk.” Dean holds up three fingers with his left hand and covers his heart with the right while donning his most serious and solemn of faces. “Scouts honour.”

Cas bites his lip and glances at Dean again, eyebrow raised, hand hesitating over the mat. “It’s me. Us. My people. You call us Angels, but we call ourselves Hamiaah.”

“That’s cool.” Dean sits back again. “What’s it mean?”

“It loosely translates to ‘winged creatures’.”

“Hamiaah sounds cooler than Human, that’s for sure. I’m even a little jealous.” He grins and gestures toward the kitchen. “So what are you going to make for dinner? More stew? I can help before I head back to my place.”

Cas looks at him again and squints for a moment before he shrugs. “I was just going to have more stew and bread.” He keeps glancing at Dean, barely turning his head to look and Dean’s not exactly sure _why_ , but it’s interesting enough to keep pretending it’s not happening. “If you’re going to be heading back before dark, we can have an early supper.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. But I have food back at the trailer. You don’t have to feed me.”

“If your food has ingredients in it like those granola bars, then I wouldn’t exactly call it _food_.” Cas snorts and knots the fibers at the edge of the mat. “If you’re intent on insuring my recovery, then allow me to return the favour by insuring you eat proper foods.”

Dean pulls a face. “You’re as bad as Sammy. But dude, it’s been _days_ since I had meat. I need meat and your hippy vegetarian foods don’t exactly cut it for me as an every-meal kinda thing.”

Cas frowns at him like it’s a personal insult and Dean can only shrug. If he was meant to eat only veggies, then meat wouldn’t taste so good to start with. He watches Cas get up and almost _stomp_ across the room into the cave. There’s shuffling and mumbling in Enochian and then Cas comes back with a covered bowl that he drops into Dean’s lap.

“What’s this?”

“Meat.”

Dean lifts the lid and looks down at what seems like a handful of jerky. He doesn’t know what kind of jerky, but he’s willing to bet anything that it’s not beef. And it’s not likely to be pork, chicken, or turkey. Which are pretty much the only kinds of meat he’ll eat.

“I thought you said you guys don’t hunt.”

“We don’t.” Cas starts back on the other side of the mat, weaving in the new fibers. “But if I come across an animal that has freshly died of natural causes and there’s no other animals around who would better benefit from the meat, then I’ll take what I can and either cook with it right away or I dry it.”

He pokes at the strips of meat in the bottom of the bowl. “So what did this come from?”

“A deer.”

Yeah, there’s no way he’s eating Bambi’s mom. Dean covers the container and puts it aside. “Have you never heard of bacon?”

“I have.”

“If I brought you bacon, would you eat it?”

“Does it have additives?”

“I… don’t know.” It’s not like he’s ever stopped to read the contents of packages. And if Cas ends up giving him a complex about shit that’s in his food and he stops eating certain things, Dean is going to be _pissed_. “So do Angels have farm animals? Y’know, pigs, and cows and stuff? Do you kill those?”

“We don’t kill unnecessarily. We keep animals for what they can give us and if they die of natural causes, we’ll use as much of their bodies as we can.” Cas doesn’t even pause in weaving as he explains. “It’s why we care for our leathers to make them last as long as they can. They’re expensive. It would take several of my mats to afford a single item of leather.”

Dean turns on the couch and stretches out on his back, arms tucked behind his head. “Is that how you got your underpants? What do you call them again… kwaah?”

“Qaa. Yes. I own one that I purchased and the rest I made from the skins of the smaller animals that I’ve helped over the years.” He reaches down and pats the tails hanging off the back of his wrap. “I could just wear fiber cloths made from wool or fibrous plants. But they’re not nearly as comfortable.”

“It’s all about the comfort, isn’t it?”

“Undoubtedly.”

They make more small talk. Cas talks about all the different kinds of plants that Angels can make fabrics from. Dean only half listens. The other half of his attention is devoted to plotting out what he’s going to do tomorrow. He’ll probably call Bobby when he gets back to the trailer tonight. He’ll sleep, eat a meat-filled breakfast, and then spend the rest of the day taking down the traps. He’ll maybe take a break around noon to come check on Cas and make sure he hasn’t fucked up his arm or wing or something. Hell, they might even need to re-oil the feathers again – and for that, Dean is bringing the rubber gloves.

It’s late afternoon when Cas tells him to heat up the stew. Dean does it without hesitation and cleans up around the place a bit. He kinda felt like an ass just sitting there and not doing anything while Cas worked away at his mat, adding a whole extra foot to it and weaving coloured straw in at certain places to work in a design that he refuses to explain.

The only time Cas takes a break from mat-weaving is when he stops to eat. They sit side by side on the couch and keep talking about all the different stuff that Cas uses to make simple things like clothes, shoes, his mats, or blankets. When he starts asking Dean how his clothes are made, Dean really doesn’t have any kind of answer. He just shrugs it off and says he buys them in stores. That ends up being his answer to most of Cas’s questions.

“Don’t you ever wonder where your things come from? How they’re made?”

“Not really.” Dean shrugs again and uses his last piece of bread to wipe the bottom of his bowl. “There’s too much for me to think and worry about than knowing where shit I use comes from. As long as I can get it when I need it, then why should I care?”

Cas holds his empty bowl out to him when Dean gestures for it. “What if life as you know it ended and you had to live off the land like me. What would you do?”

“Probably spend a lot of my time naked.” He grins and Cas’s blush is as surprising as it is rewarding. “Dad taught me to be a survivalist and I could ‘live off the land’ if I needed to. But as long as I don’t have to, then why bother worrying about it.”

They both get up and Cas goes back to his mat while Dean cleans up from supper and stores the food as per Cas’s instructions. By the time all that is done and Dean is satisfied with the job, the shadows are getting long and it’s time to head back to the trailer. Cas barely even looks up while Dean straps on his knives and puts on his shoulder holster.

“Are you coming back tomorrow?” He asks over his shoulder while Dean’s pulling on his jacket.

“Most likely. Don’t even try saying that I shouldn’t. I won’t spend the night again, but I’ll definitely come by just in case you need anything done.”

Cas makes a humming noise, but he doesn’t turn away from the mat and Dean’s not really sure why he’s disappointed about that. “I’ve already learned not to try and talk you out of it. You’re very stubborn. And don’t worry about Silvanus. He’s all talk when he says he’ll follow and dismember you.”

“You’re joking, right?”

His wing flickers and if he was facing him, Dean’s pretty sure Cas would be smiling. “I might be.”

Silvanus’s growl turns into a huffing laugh and that tapping noise might just be the end of his tail against the outside wall. Either way, Dean is giving him the stink-eye to end all stink-eyes. He forgoes patting Cas on the shoulder as a goodbye because the last time he touched him, Silvanus nearly tried climbing through the window. If Dean wants to get back in one piece then provoking the forest guardian is maybe not the best thing to do right now.

“You take it easy.” Dean pauses at what passes for the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Cas says something that sounds like it could be “I miss you already” but it might have been “Just piss off already” – Dean can’t tell, he’s already heading down the path and ignoring the thump-thump-thump-thump behind him. He keeps one hand inside the front of his jacket and follows the trail as it loops around the clearing and back toward the main path. Silvanus follows him to that junction and no further. He doesn’t leave the cover of the trees and Dean sends up a ‘thank you’ to whichever God-he-doesn’t-believe-in is watching over his ass when the beast doesn’t follow him to the clearing.

After collecting his shovel and the bag of oily dirt, Dean heads to the trailer. The garbage bag gets stowed in the trunk of the impala and he’ll leave it to Bobby to handle. The sun is almost set by the time he gets inside and he spends a good hour cleaning up the gear he has out, starting with the laptops. He’s going to be leaving soon… ish – since it looks like Cas is more than capable of taking care of himself now and he does have Silvanus around to keep his ass safe from bears and shit.

Although… Cas doesn’t look like he has problems with animals. It seems he’s taken in plenty of loveable forest cute and cuddlies, and cared for them for longer than Dean has ever managed to keep a potted plant alive. Hell, he’s wearing a bear’s fur as a wrap so it’s entirely likely that that means at some point Cas actually cared for a _bear_. Which is all sorts of badass.

Cas’s wrist will probably be healed before Dean even heads out, so Cas is totally going to be able to take care of himself in just a few days. Which means he doesn’t need Dean around, like, _at all_. And that thought really shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. Dean cranks the volume on his radio and sings along to the old rock station to focus on something else besides thinking about how nobody he knows actually _needs_ him around.

After finally using a proper bathroom, brushing his teeth, and taking a much needed shower, Dean crawls into bed. He’s all tucked in and comfy when he remembers that he hasn’t called Bobby yet and he stretches for the phone from his spot on the floor. It rings twice before Bobby picks up.

The call is over and done with in under five minutes. As long as he’s alive, Bobby’s happy. Although he’s not entirely impressed that Dean spent the night in enemy territory, let alone actually _slept_ and ate his food and everything else Dean did. Turns out that Bobby is still thinking on what to do about John. As it stands, Bobby is one of the few people in the world who can lie to John and he thinks he might have an idea of how to handle it. He promises to give Dean a concrete answer the next time he calls.

He’s not sure if sleeping on the stuffed mats in Cas’s living room felt better than sleeping on a trailer’s bed cushions. Either way, in the morning he’s just as cotton-headed as he usually is when he wakes up. It takes two cups of coffee before he’s even coordinated enough to get dressed, let alone leave the trailer to get the many bags and cases he uses to carry around his traps.

Unfortunately it’s going to take more than a few trips to carry all his equipment back from the clearing. He packs a few bottles of water, a bag of _real_ beef jerky, some work gloves, rope, and extra batteries for his walkman - just in case. 

Dean starts with the sensors. They all have their own padded boxes and fit into a cooler-esque carrying case. He designed and built it himself, and it’s awesome. Anyone who says otherwise can suck the business end of his glock. It takes over an hour just to dismantle all the sensors and store them away safely. It takes another hour, a pulley system of ropes, and a shit ton of luck (or prayers that the tree branch doesn’t snap while he’s sitting on it) to get the net canon out of the tree.

He’s worked up a hell of a sweat by the time he’s drained the canon of excess oil into a jug, wiped it clean and taken the canon apart to play Tetris with the pieces and their bag. Dean leaves his jacket and flannel over the full bags. It’s only April, but the sun is high and warm and the breeze is nice. Once he’s cooled down, he’ll put the flannel back on. For now, he’ll work in a muscle shirt.

It’s while he’s crouched to take down a few snare traps and singing loudly – and _in tune_ , thank you very much – to ‘Iron Man’ by Black Sabbath when a hand touches his shoulder. Dean damn near shits himself, but he’s on his feet and holding a wrist tightly within seconds. He’s got the hunting knife out of his boot and held against Cas’s throat before he even realizes who it is.

“Jesus _Christ_.” Dean steps away quickly, letting go and yanking the head phones from his ear. “Don’t _ever_ sneak up on a hunter unless you’re going to actually end them, Cas. _Fuck_ , you scared the shit out of me. What the hell are you doing here?”

Cas looks surprised, but he doesn’t look disturbed about having had a blade against his neck. He’s still wearing his right arm in a sling and he’s holding a large covered bowl cradled in that hand. There’s a drawstring bag tied around his waist. His feathers are fluffed and his left wing is part way uncurled, curving around his shoulder slightly.

“I –” He stops, clears his throat and schools his expression back into neutral. “I finished with the mat and thought that before I start the next I would come and see how you’re doing with the traps.”

Dean lifts his leg to shove the knife back into its sheath in his boot. “I’m about half done. Just the ground traps to take care of now. What’s with the fanny pack?” He gestures at the string bag before turning back around to finish with the spring trap. While Cas is here, maybe he’ll stop to take a lunch break now – and that’s when he notices the flowers.

They’re white and grow in bursts up all the trees within spitting distance. The first flowers almost look like roses, but more… what’s the word for that? Tubular? Whatever. He’s not a gardener. The other flowers are weirder looking. They grow on long, branching stalks with weird little springs of leaves on them that look a lot like a garnish Dean would find on the side of a steak. The flowers themselves have teeny flowers with four white petals that spread on one side of the little flower buds. All together it looks like one big flower, but it actually looks like a bunch of small ones.

It comes to one conclusion: flowers are weird.

And Cas is even weirder for making them grow based off his emotions. Which, really, Dean should find out if they actually _mean_ anything. Don’t flowers have meaning or something? All he knows is something like red roses mean passion or love or whatever. He’s not a florist.

Cas is still standing right where Dean left him once he’s got the rope and the wires all down and coiled in a bag. There are even more flowers than before and Cas looks like he’s glaring at them, lips pressed in a thin line and his cheeks are all red. It’s kinda cute and Dean immediately strikes that thought from his brain with at least three layers of black sharpie marker.

“You never answered the question, Cas. What’s up with the fanny pack?”

He looks back at Dean and his hand drops to the bag. “Things for lunch.”

The grin can’t be stopped and neither can the eyebrow waggle. “Aw, Cas, did you miss me enough to want to come and eat lunch with me? I’m touched!” Cas’s wing flares sharply and he frowns. The frown gets deeper when Dean starts laughing and he waves his hand. “I’m just teasing, calm down. You’re more than welcome to eat your lunch with me if you want to. I’ve got bottled water – natural spring with no bullshit additives – if you want one.”

“It will have been tainted by the plastic container.”

“Is that a ‘no’?”

Cas follows Dean over to his bags and sits down next to him, putting the bowl on top of the box-bag full of sensors. “I’ll make an exception for it like I did the soap. Thank you.”

Dean passes him a bottle and gets out the beef jerky. Cas smacks his hand with the bottle of water and frowns at him so hard Dean drops the jerky and closes the bag with the jerky inside. “What?”

“Read the ingredients on that and tell me it’s not going to put you in an early grave.”

“Why the heck would you care? I nearly _killed_ you.”

“But you didn’t. I’m returning the favour.”

Dean cracks open his own bottle of water and doesn’t bother keeping the whine out of his voice. “But I’m _hungry_ , Cas! I’ve been working all day trying to fix my mistake and I need _meat_.”

Cas unties the bag from around his waist and pulls it into his lap, working at the knot keeping it closed while he talks. “I’m assuming that you had meat with your breakfast, since you _need_ it so badly. And I’m sure that you’re going to eat it with supper to. As for lunch, you can go without and eat what I brought for us.”

He’s pouting and he doesn’t care. Although he actually wants to smile because not only did Cas make enough food for him too, he also brought it all the way down here. Cas hands him two bowls and makes him hold a pair of long sticks that look a lot like chopsticks, except there’s a kind of string holding them together and squishing what looks like cork or something similar between them. The last thing he takes from the bag is a ladle.

Dean holds out one bowl at a time for Cas to spoon broth from the covered bowl into the ones in his hands. There’s little chunks of vegetables floating in it and Dean crinkles his nose at them but he doesn’t complain. If he complains, Cas might go into one of those nutrition lectures that Sam is _oh so fond_ of and he’d rather not hear that from more than one person in his life.

Not that Cas is a person in his life. He just happens to be the only person here and once Dean leaves, they’ll never see each other again and Cas will go back to being a lonely hermit (even a blind man would see Cas is at least a little lonely) while Dean goes back to hunting Angels. Though he’s pretty sure that’s going to be really hard now that he personally knows an Angel as cool as Cas.

Cas fumbles a little with the giant chopsticks, apparently not used to using them with his left hand. Dean has to hold the bowls even closer while he uses the chopsticks to separate noodles between them. Whatever broth is left in the serving bowl, he tops off the bowls with.

“You wouldn’t happen to have utensils in that magic bag of yours, would you?”

“No. You just drink the soup and slurp the noodles.” Cas shakes off the chopsticks and the ladle before he puts them back in the hip-bag and takes his bowl.

Dean is halfway done when he realizes a few things and he almost chokes on the noodles. He swallows, coughs, takes a couple sips of water and looks at Cas with narrowed eyes. “I went through that whole cave looking for the pie ingredients. I didn’t see a single piece of pasta. Where the hell did you get noodles for this?”

“Wheat flour, water, salt. I mixed them into a dough and then made it into noodles. It’s something I learned while I was in China before my disgrace. And before you ask –” Cas smirks when Dean snaps his mouth closed. “No, I didn’t fly there. We went by boat. Believe it or not, there are some Humans who don’t hate Hamiaah and are more than willing to help us. Maybe someday I’ll actually show you how I make the noodles.”

They both kinda stop and realize what he just said. Dean doesn’t say anything on it and neither does Cas. There really isn’t much chance for Cas getting to show his ninja noodle skills, so it’s nothing to talk about. Instead, Dean pointedly looks around the clearing.

“So where’s your guardian?”

Cas snorts and frowns down at his bowl, swirling around the last of his noodles. “I made Silvanus leave. He’s not needed here and the northern forests have to be patrolled. He’s not just protecting me, he’s protecting –” He cuts off with a snap and Dean shrugs it off. It probably has something to do with the clans and he’s not going to press him about it.

Dean leans into Cas’s shoulder, nudging him slightly. It’s his bad side, so he doesn’t put much force into it while he bats his eyes with the eyebrow waggling that makes Cas do the frown-pout again. He can’t resist a little more teasing. “Oh, _Cas_. I didn’t know you wanted to be alone with me!” His grin only gets bigger as Cas pales and his eyes go wide. “You could have just _asked_.”  Dean ends it with a saucy wink that would make anyone else roll their eyes and shove him away.

Instead, Cas goes pink. Right to the very tips of his ears. The explosion of flowers around them is actually _audible_ and Dean flinches at the pink flowers – the size of his fist with hundreds of thin petals clustered together – grow in a rush across the clearing and almost halfway up every tree around it. Cas’s good wing flares out sharply, almost going straight up as it extends fully.  It’s such an intense reaction that Dean is left stunned to the point that he stares at Cas, jaw dropped.

Cas actually full on _splutters_. “That’s _not_ what I meant!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Gardenia: you're lovely  
> \- Coriander: lust  
> \- Peony: bashfulness


	9. Quid Pro Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas doesn’t even need to use his hands to stand. He does that weird straight from crossed-legs stand and Dean is forced to step back or risk having zero personal space between them. But that doesn’t stop Cas from getting right up in his face, his left wing flaring in what might be an attempt at intimidation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use)  
>  | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty)

Fifteen minutes later and Cas is _still_ glaring at him. Every time Dean looks over, he can’t help – and he can’t believe he’s using this word to describe it – he can’t help _giggling_. Cas’s ears are still red, but that’s the only part of him that’s still blushing. The rest of him is radiating unhappiness and his glare only intensifies to the smite-tastic levels any time Dean cracks a joke about those pink, fist-sized flowers that bloom and wither to nothing within minutes whenever he looks over.

It’s pretty damn amusing and even though they don’t actually talk – aside from Cas telling him when he’s missed a trap – for the next hour and a half, it’s pretty nice to just have some company. Except Dean doesn’t really need the reminders of where all his traps are. He’s got the memory of an elephant. He knows where all his babies are – even if they’re just a simple snare.

Dean might wince a little when Cas makes horrified faces as he sets off the bear traps specifically designed only to incapacitate. He disables the sensors that would be notifying his laptops – if they were set up – that the trap had gone off. Cas’s disapproval can practically be _felt_ from across the clearing where Dean is poking around in the underbrush outside the ring of trees.

“Y’know, if seeing all this is gonna bother you so much, maybe you shouldn’t watch?” Dean suggests as he leans the third trap against the bags Cas is sitting by. It’s going to take at least five trips to carry all this stuff back, and it’s still a half hour hike – longer, now that he’s going to be weighed down.

“I already told you why I’m still here.”

He wipes the sweat from his forehead and shoots Cas a slanted grin. “Yeah, yeah. You want to make sure I get all the traps and leave your forest looking untouched.” Cas opens his mouth to say something, but Dean keeps talking. “You know you don’t need an excuse to want to spend more time with me. I’m awesome and if wonders never cease, I’m easy on the eyes too.” He does another of those ridiculous winks and this time Cas’s blush reaches his cheeks as the flowers flood up the trees behind him.

“I don’t know about you, but you might want to do something about that flower thing.” Dean gestures as he squats next to Cas, going through his mini-cooler to find a still cold bottle of water. “I feel bad every time they die out and – jeeze, what do they do? Turn to dust?”

Cas’s wings fluff up and his good one twitches out like he’s smacking at the flowers behind him. “They return to Caosgi. And I can’t control them unless I’m really focusing on it. If I’m using my abilities, the power bleed doesn’t happen. If I’m not, than the power bleed happens purely because I’m overflowing with the energy.”

“Aren’t you using that power to heal your arm or wing?”

“Not constantly.” Cas looks down at his right arm where it’s resting in the sling and he flexes his fingers. “If I did it always, I would be very drained and too tired to do anything. And since I’m injured, my powers are my only defenses right now.”

Dean stands and chugs about half of his bottle of water before he says anything again. “Does that mean you’re not going to roll over and let someone else kill you any time soon?”

That’s still bothering him. _A lot_. From what he’s seen in Cas over the last few days, giving up so easily just doesn’t seem like him. There’s more to that decision than what Cas told him before. No way anyone as stubborn and hard-headed as Cas would just fucking give up because they don’t want to deal with pain. Cas was – is – a soldier. A damn good one, if what information Dean’s gathered so far is any sort of right. Which means he’s probably been trained to handle at least some kind of pain.

And even if Cas is actually one of those people who’s willing to give up at the first sign of trouble – since he’s caved more than once to Dean’s stubborn ways – that still doesn’t sit right with Dean. There’s just this _feeling_ tickling at the back of his mind telling him that there’s _more_ to it. But that feeling comes with another feeling that if he even bothered to ask, Cas would either shut down, leave, or manage to change the topic to something else.

Cas continues to look down at his arm. He’s picking at the stray threads along the edge of the sling. “If another hunter comes to kill me while I’m wounded, I’d rather –”

“Don’t you fucking say it. I’m going to lay down a law here.” Dean steps up and leans over him, waiting until Cas looks up at him with a frown that puts a line between his eyebrows and creases on his forehead. “You’re not allowed to let anyone else kill you. If you’re going to die by anyone’s hand, it’s going to be me. Understand?”

That just makes him look more confused. And Dean leans over him, keeping those baby blues locked with his so Cas _knows_ he’s not blowing smoke out of his ass here. “No one else is allowed to kill you except for me. You’re my first hunt. I’m the one who let you live. I’ll be the one who decides if you’re going to die.”

For a moment Cas just looks surprised, and then his expression locks into something that looks neutral but it’s a _scary_ kind of neutral. Yellow flowers, like something you’d see kindergarten kids make with tissue paper fluffed together on the end of a pipe-cleaner, burst out around him. Dean recognizes them as the flowers the lady at the flower shop always gives him when he asks for a bouquet to take to his mom’s grave. They’re something that starts with a ‘c’ – fuck, flowers are just not his forte.

Cas doesn’t even need to use his hands to stand. He does that weird straight from crossed-legs stand and Dean is forced to step back or risk having zero personal space between them. But that doesn’t stop Cas from getting right up in his face, his left wing flaring in what might be an attempt at intimidation.

“ _No one_ gets to decide my end but _me_.” Cas fucking _hisses_ the words. “You made the choice to spare my life and tend to the wounds you caused. Saving me instead of killing me does _not_ give you the right to _any_ control over my life. Don’t you _dare_ to presume anything about me.”

Good. Cas still has enough kick in him that he’s not going to submit to just anything. But that isn’t enough to make Dean smile, or back down. He’s got maybe an inch or two of height on Cas – more since his army boots have a decent sole on them – but it still feels like Cas is looming over him. Either it’s his flared wing and the puffed feathers of his other wing, or _looming_ is another Angel magic.

“I just want to make sure you’re not going to let all my hard work go to waste. I don’t want to end up hearing through the network that you got caught, or running into a hunter with your wings strapped to the hood of his car.” Dean doesn’t bother keeping the disgust from his voice.

He hates the practice of taking an Angel’s wings after a kill, and he hates putting them on display. Most hunters keep them on their car until they can dump them at Bobby’s, leaving him to dispose of them. Angel feathers sell for a lot to certain people who use them for decoration or in jewelry. They’re more coveted than any kind of bird feather.  

It’s not that easy to kill an Angel. They’re hard to find, hard to track, hard to catch and harder to kill – especially if you’re working alone and you’re as good as dead if they’ve got a partner. In the eight years that he’s been hunting with John, they (meaning, John) have killed ten Angels. They’ve found and fought more than that and barely got away with their lives in some cases. Most hunters barely manage to off an Angel once every few years.

It makes Dean and his dad the best hunters in the business – legends, even. If Cas wasn’t a hermit, he would probably have at least heard about him and recognized the Winchester name. Not that Dean knows that for sure. They’re not exactly liberal with the family name, but it’s still _known_ within the hunter community. It’s not a far cry to expect that somehow Angels would find out about them.

Cas’s expression softens a little and Dean almost immediately feels embarrassed. The way he said it made it seem like he _cares_ for Cas. Just because he’s trying to clear his conscience doesn’t mean that he actually _cares_ about what happens to him. And he’s just going to continue ignoring that little voice hissing ‘ _liar_ ’ at him in the back of his head.

Dean scoffs and turns away. “You’re the first Angel I’ve seen with black wings. Any hunter would want to claim them as their own.”

Feathers brush against his arm and Dean turns around quickly to find Cas curving his wing forward over his shoulder to touch at his feathers softly. “They’re melanistic. Very rare. I’m the only Hamiaah my clan has seen in several centuries who has had them.”

Thank the sweet Lords of Rock, Cas is giving them a way out of that uncomfortable as hell conversation. “So you don’t take after either of your parents?”

Cas shakes his head and touches the feathers hanging from his necklace. One is a kind of whitish-blue and the other is a grey that sorta ends in a blue. Cas touches the white-ish one. “My mother’s.” He taps at the grey one. “My father’s. I should have taken after my father. They weren’t expecting me to be born with black wings.”

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve seen wings that aren’t white.”

“White is the most common. Grey is second most common. Most feathers tint blue around the edges regardless of the main colour.” Cas continues stroking his feathers and even though his face has gone back to neutral, he sort of looks a little sad. “Black is nearly unheard of.”

Shit. That probably means that Cas got picked on a helluva lot as a kid. Maybe his wings play into that whole ‘I’m a disgrace’ thing. But that’s bullshit. Picking on someone because of the colour of their feathers is like picking on a kid for being a little tubby (like Sam was) or for having different coloured skin. That pisses Dean right off.

“Yeah, well, I think your wings are the nicest I’ve ever seen.”

And again there’s that audible explosion of fist-sized, pink flowers. This time they’re so thick that they pile up around Dean’s feet. He frowns down at them and Cas muffles an annoyed sound. Heck, he might even curse in Enochian as he glares around the clearing at all the flowers.

“Okay, seriously, what the _hell_?” Dean gestures around them sharply. “This is getting ridiculous!”

“Then perhaps you should _stop talking_.”

“I’m not the one making it happen!”

“Yes, you are!” Cas hisses, wing fluttering as he sits down heavily again. “Just finish taking down the net you have suspended in the canopy, and you’ll have removed everything and you can go home.”

Dean rolls his eyes and shuffles through the flowers, trying not to crush any of them even if they’re going to wither in a few minutes. “Bitch all you want, but you’re the one sticking around when you could easily go back to your _lair_ and start on the next mat.”

“You’re going to need all the help you can get to take all this back to your camp.” Cas mutters behind him and when Dean glances over his shoulder, Cas has one knee drawn up to his chest and he’s flicking at the petals of a flower next to him. He almost looks like he’s sulking.

“Wait, what?” Dean stops untying the rope wrapped around a low branch on a tree. “You’ve got a busted arm and wing. You really think you’re going to be able to help me carry anything back?”

Cas shrugs his good shoulder. “One extra arm is better than nothing.”

True. But Cas hadn’t said anything about helping him out like that after they’d cleaned up what was left of their lunch. He hadn’t said much – too red faced and glaring at the flowers around him after Dean had teased him. It _would_ knock at least two trips off the total that he’d have to do. He’ll just make sure that Cas carries the lightest things.

A half hour later and they’re tromping through the woods side by side. Cas is carrying that rolled up net, pinning it to his chest with his bad arm – which Dean had told him not to do but Cas ignored him completely. He’s got a bag hanging over his shoulder and they’re both holding on to either end of the sensor’s box. Dean has a few of his own bags, crisscrossed over his chest and another carried under his arm. He did the same thing he does when he’s bringing in the groceries; carrying as much as physically possible. With Cas’s help, he might actually only have one more trip to make before everything is back in the trailer and ready to be hauled back to Bobby’s.

Dean winces whenever he sees Cas take a step because seriously, he’s not wearing shoes. How are all the little twigs and rocks and things not digging into his feet? It’s ridiculous and painful and Cas must be six different kinds of crazy to be doing it.

“Stop staring at my feet.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” Cas doesn’t look at him while he talks and it’s kind of a little unnerving. “If you go barefoot your whole life, your skin gets toughened to the point where little debris like this doesn’t bother you. If I was to step on something like a nail, then _that_ would hurt.”

“So you’re saying that the bottom of your feet are covered in calluses?”

“That would be the apt term, yes.”

Dean crinkles his nose, but it’s understandable. He’s got gun calluses from his weapons and tool calluses from working on his baby. He’s got calluses on his calluses. So, yeah, completely understandable. It’s still not going to stop him from wincing every time he hears a twig snap and he knows it’s not under his own boot. Wait –

“Aren’t Angels supposed to be stealthy? How come you’re making so much noise?”

“You managed to sneak up on the clearing without me noticing before. I was warned by the forest that you were going to fire at me.” Castiel can’t really shrug with everything on the only shoulder he can really shrug, but his arm does twitch a little. “And yet you’re making just as much noise as I am. Amazing how stealth diminishes the more you’re carrying.”

“You are a _really_ snarky bastard, you know that?”

“My people skills are rusty.”

Dean snorts and he thinks he might see a smile pull up at the corner of Cas’s mouth before they fall into a surprisingly comfortable silence. The quiet lasts until they get to the trailer parked in the middle of the rut that barely qualifies as a road. Dean swears if the hump in the middle of this piss poor excuse for a road fucks with baby’s undercarriage, he’s going to – well, there’s really no one he can be angry with except himself for driving out this way. But _still_ , he’ll be pissed.

Cas’s eyes go all squinty-narrow when he sees where Dean lays his head to sleep. He can practically _feel_ the disapproval rolling off him like stink waves in a comic book. Dean suspects that at any moment, Cas is going to break into rants about fossil fuels, green house gases and how his _baby_ is a monstrosity. And that’s not anything that Dean wants to hear. He actually kinda likes hanging with Cas and if he hears him insult baby, he might finish this job here and now. (No, he actually wouldn’t, but he’d be pretty upset having to hear that from his new sorta-friend.)

“Let’s just put these down by the trailer and go back for the rest of the stuff.” Dean gestures with a tilt of his head to where he means. He’ll store the stuff later once Cas heads home.

Cas doesn’t say anything, but he cranes his neck when they get closer, trying to peer in through the screen door and probably just taking in everything he can see. He’s been on boats before and he sneaks down to the farmlands when the crops are bad. So it’s not like this is the first time he’s seen human things. Hell, it’s probably not even the first trailer and car he’s seen. But Cas seems like the curious kind. Not to mention that he’s a soldier and if John is anything to go by, soldiers like to know the lay of the land and everything that could throw a kink in the plans. Cas is probably just being cautious and stuff.

They’re on their way back to the clearing when Cas finally speaks again. “Your home is very small.”

Dean left his jacket back at the trailer because it’s too hot for him to wear it while he’s lugging heavy things back and forth. He uses the back of his shirt to wipe sweat off the back of his neck and he’s pretty sure it’s his imagination (and _not_ wishful thinking) that he sees Cas watching the motion out of the corner of his eye. Cas’s comment makes him laugh.

“That’s not my home. It’s just the place that Bobby lent me to stay in while I’m on my own up here. He thought I’d like it better than camping out in the backseat of my car or in a tent, since the nights get pretty cold up here.”

Cas is silent for a few moments. “What is your home like?”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to be quiet. That’s quite the tough question to answer. He shrugs and shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching slightly. “I don’t really have a home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I move around too much to have a home. The closest thing would either by Bobby’s place or my car.” Dean shrugs and Cas just makes a humming sound as an answer. He looks like he’s frowning and Dean doesn’t really understand why. “Hey, it’s cool, y’know? We don’t have to pay for taxes or anything on a house. There’s no upkeep beyond my car and I enjoy working on her. I don’t have space to clutter up with shit I don’t actually need. It’s free living. All I gotta pay for is gas and whatever it takes to keep my baby running – and half that stuff Bobby lets me use for free.”

“You’ve never had a stable home?” Cas looks at him then, eyes soft and Dean doesn’t know if that’s pity or honest interest. It makes his stomach do weird summersaults and Dean doesn’t like that feeling.

He shrugs again. “Not since I was four.”

“What happened when you were four?”

“What happened to you being Mr. Tall-dark-and-quiet?”

Cas frowns at him but it doesn’t make the trapeze acrobat that his stomach has suddenly become stop doing a one man show under his ribs. “Is it bad that I’m curious?”

“No, it’s just – why?”

“You’re interesting and I don’t have anything better to do right now. Unless you can think of something else to talk about to alleviate the boredom, be my guest.”

Dean sticks his tongue out at the side of Cas’s head and hops over a root. “Fine, but for every question you ask and I answer, I get to ask one of my own – and you _have_ to answer. Otherwise we’re walking in silence. Deal?”

“Quid Pro Quo? Alright. But you cannot ask me about anything that will put my clan in danger or why I am considered a disgrace.”

Damn. Dean couldn't care less about the clan, but he’s _really_ fucking curious about this whole ‘disgrace’ thing. It’s the one thing that is a great big question mark about Cas and he’s dying to hear about it. Cas is giving him something painfully close to a stink-eye and Dean sighs heavily, holding a hand out as a gesture of solidarity.

“Deal.”

They shake hands and his trapeze-artist-stomach decides to take up high diving, starting somewhere around Dean’s throat and pit-diving to his toes. Which is a really weird reaction for him to have to the eye-smile-lip-twitch that he gets in reply. Dean doesn’t have long to wonder about it, because Cas tilts his head at him, eyebrows raised.

“Are there any stipulations you would like to put into place before we begin?”

“Not that I can think of. I’m an open book, Cas. _Read me_.”

Maybe one of his questions is going to be focused on why Cas blushes at the drop of a hat. Another might be what the hell all these flowers are and why they’re the same ones over and over. They usually change every other time that Dean gets a reaction out of him and them being reused – and if they really are based off his emotions – than what flower is the fist-sized, pink beast and what does it mean?

“So the question is still to you, what happened when you were four?”

“A storm of tornados that shouldn’t have been naturally possible tore apart my home town. My dad was driving me and Sammy to visit Bobby and mom was going to join us later.” Dean grits his teeth at the memory. It’s probably his least favourite, right before the night Sammy announced he was going to law school for Angel Rights. “We were caught in the edge of the storm. There was a fuckton of thunder, lightning, wind and rain. Scared me shitless and Sammy was screaming the whole time. The story was so bad that Dad nearly rolled the car into a ditch. The whole thing was fucking unnatural. Worst storm in Kansas history. A tornado went right through our house. Dad never told me what condition mom was in when they found her, but it wrecked him.”

Dean takes a deep breath, ignoring the wide-eyed stare he can feel on the side of his head. “A week after the storm, Dad heard that there had been a group of Angel’s spotted a few miles away during the time of the storm. An unnatural storm that came out of fucking _nowhere_ and Angels in the area? Two plus two is four. Dad’s spent the last twenty-two years hunting you guys, looking for the Angels who did it, the ones who were there.”

“Your mission is one of vengeance.” Cas murmurs quietly. It’s not a question and Dean doesn’t bother answering it.

“My turn. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“None.” Cas shrugs, stooping to pick up a rock. He one-handed juggles it for awhile as they walk. “Although I do have many cousins. My parents had a few brothers and sisters each. Is Bobby a member of your family?”

“Mom and dad are both single kids, but family doesn’t end with blood. Bobby is like the uncle I never knew I wanted and an old army buddy of my dad’s. Angel hunting has been in his family for generations. What happened to your parents?”

Cas misses catching the rock and his steps hesitate before he continues. “I lost them when your armies tried to capture and force Hamiaah to use our powers for you during what you considered to be your First World War. They were killed by your soldiers. They died keeping me safe.”

Dean takes a few moments doing the math, counting on his fingers when he needs to. Math never was his strong suit. Neither was history, but he’s got a general idea about when WWI started. “So… you were in your thirties when that happened? Were you a grown up then or were you still a kid?”

“Technically it’s my turn to ask the question. I’ll ask two after this.” Cas gives him a thin lipped look. “I was fully grown, but still considered to be a child while I was training. My wings weren’t fully developed and my powers hadn’t matured completely. Since my parents were sentries, we lived away from the clan. I actually grew up around here.” Cas gestures at the trees around them. “It played a large part in my decision to live here after I fell from grace. My parents fought and died to give me the time to escape back to the clan.”

He rubs the back of his neck, not sure what to say to that. The best he’s got is a mumbled “I’m sorry to hear that” and Cas just shrugs. “It was over a hundred years ago. As much as Humans are to blame, I hold no one responsible. It was my parents’ choice to fight instead of submitting or fleeing with me. Their sacrifice did not go to waste.”

“S’good.” Dean shoves his hands back in his pockets. Without his jacket, the cool spring air is starting to seep into his skin. “Right, your turn. Two questions, wasn’t it?”

“How did you decide that you’re attracted to both men and women?”

Dean nearly ends up eating dirt, foot catching on a tree root. That really wasn’t one of the questions he was expecting. Hell, he didn’t think Cas would even remember him mentioning it the other day. Cas is watching him curiously, _intently_ , while he steadies himself.

“Uh, middle school? I mean, mid teens? I dunno.” Dean shrugs. They’re getting close to the clearing and it’s kind of weird how quickly time flies when you’ve actually got someone to talk to. “I guess I always sorta knew. Guys are hot, girls are hot. Why should I ignore half the population when I’m satisfied no matter what they’ve got in their pants?”

Cas hums under his breath and they keep walking a few more minutes before Cas asks his second question. His ears go all red and he’s leaving a trail of those fist-sized flowers again. “Have you ever been with a man?”

“You’ll have to be more specific about what you mean by ‘been with’.”

“ _Dean_.”

He snorts and shrugs. “Nothing more than drunken handjobs in bathroom stalls.” Cas opens his mouth as if to ask another question, but Dean cuts him off. “My turn. What the hell is with the freaking flowers you’re leaving like a fairy princess?”

Cas looks behind himself and groans, muttering in Enochian again. “They’re peonies and they’re reacting to my emotions.”

“Obviously. Don’t cheap out on the answer, Cas.”

“That’s the best answer I can give. It’s true that certain flowers will grow to certain emotions, but I’m never feeling just _one_ emotion. I can’t guarantee that the flowers that grow are subject to the emotion I’m feeling the most, or the least.”

It’s a shit answer and Dean has the sneaking suspicion that Cas is lying to him, but it’s the best he’s probably going to get. He sighs and shrugs. “Fine, your turn.”

The rest of their questions are stupid little things about favourite food, favourite books – Cas says he knows how to read, and he has read books before, but the hasn’t had the chance to really explore into them – and nothing really past that. Cas listens to Dean rant about Bukowski and Vonnegut, about how much he fucking _loves_ dystopians and why. The whole time, Cas keeps glancing at him and he’s got that small little smile the whole way back to the trailer.

They manage to get everything back in just those two trips and Dean is damn near ecstatic over it. He’s happy as a clam, even with ignoring the sweat cooling down his back. “Hey, you wanna stick around and rest for bit? You’re not fully healed and you probably shouldn’t have been stressing yourself like that. I’ve got more bottled water if you want?”

Cas looks surprised for a moment, but there’s sweat in his hair, on his temples, and in the curve of his neck and Dean is carefully not noticing if it’s anywhere else on him. He’s got that wide-eyed look going on and Dean just gestures back at the trailer. Dean’s been enjoying this time talking with Cas. It’s almost like having a friend and he hasn’t had one of those in a long time. Benny sorta counts, sorta doesn’t. He’s a friend, but he’s a hunter and Dean only sees him when they’re hunting in the same area. It sucks. But this, right here with Cas, this is nice. It might even be a little fun.

“It’s still early. I suppose I could stay awhile.”  Cas looks away scouting around for a place to sit before he sinks down under the window next to the door.

Dean grins at him and steps up into the trailer. He strips off his shirt right away, nothing more than a sweat soaked rag at this point, and gets a couple towels from one of the bags stacked in the back of the trailer. Those gets hung around his neck while he gets himself a beer and a bottle of water for Cas. He’s two steps from the door when Cas’s voice calls in from the outside.

“Would you be able to boil it, please?”

“You want to drink warm water?” Dollar to donuts Cas is going to say – 

“No. For tea.”

Surprise, surprise. Dean pours the bottle out into the little kettle he keeps around for making his coffee (and on the rare occasion, hot chocolate). He leaves it on the stove to heat up and hops down the stairs outside. Cas is rooting one handed through his magic lunch bag, pulling out a clay cup and a little jar that looks like its full of tea bags. Dean doesn’t know and doesn’t care how Angels make those.

“Here, you wanna dry off?” Dean holds out one of the towels and Cas looks up. His eyes go a little bit wide, but Dean thinks maybe he actually _pales._ Those weird garnish-flowers grow around Cas again, spreading back along the edge of the trailer toward Dean’s car.

Cas shakes his head and looks back down at his cup and jar. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Dean shrugs and tosses the towel back into the trailer. “Your water is on the stove. It’ll should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thank you.” Cas murmurs, busying himself with opening the jar and putting a teabag into the cup.

He cracks open his beer and takes a swig of that, leaning against the door frame. It’s only a few minutes before he hears the kettle whistle. Dean brings that outside and Cas puts the teabag it, leaving the kettle to steep next to him for another few minutes.

“You want a spoon so you can scoop that out when it’s done?”

“I’m fine.” Cas pulls the giant chopsticks out of his bag.

Dean sits on the step into the trailer, leaning back on one hand as he stares out into the forest. Cas is watching him instead and it’s only slightly weird.

“I believe it’s my turn for a question.”

“Shoot.”

Cas fishes the teabag out and pours himself a cup. “Where did you get your scars?”

Ding, ding, ding. Cas wins for most awkward question asked. There are dozens of cuts or scratches that went a little too deep during the jobs he worked with his dad. They litter his back, his shoulders, and in odd places on his arms. There are a bunch along his legs and a few on his chest and stomach. He explains it away as rough housing a lot as a kid when girls ask while he’s getting naked, but this is the first time a guy has asked – the first time an _Angel_ has asked.

Maybe he can play it off with a little more teasing. “Why, Cas, I’m flattered that you’re paying such close attention.”  He winks dramatically again and Cas looks away sharply, ears red while he sips at his tea. At least no flowers pop up around them this time.

“Don’t cheap out on the answer, Dean.”

Ouch, his own words thrown right back in his face. That’s always fun. Dean sighs and gestures at Cas with his beer to get his attention since Cas is glaring at the garnish-flowers that are still all bright and pretty around Dean’s feet. Once Cas looks up at him, Dean points to the red, round scar on his belly just above the waist band of his jeans. “Bullet wound from a bar fight that went south and fast. They had to remove a section of my intestines because of it. Lucky they didn’t shoot an inch in either direction or I’d probably be dead.”

Cas pales again and he honest to God looks _upset_ by that news. Dean shrugs it off and does a full body gesture to encompass all his other scars. “On the job.”

That gets rid of the unhappy look as Cas’s expression steels over and he looks away. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” He lets the uncomfortable silence stretch until he’s finished his beer and he gets up. “So, you got any scars? Want a beer?”

“No, thank you.” Cas holds up his cup of tea and sips at that. “I have no scars. My powers heal me well enough that none are left.”

Duh. Dean should have remembered that. But even after that and getting himself another beer, the uncomfortable silence still settles again and it’s making Dean feel itchy. Or that might be the cooling sweat. Dean puts his beer bottle down on the step between his legs and uses the towel to dry his hair. Cas makes a surprised sound and Dean looks up from under the towels.

“I didn’t know you had a marking too.” Cas leans forward, his knees coming up higher as he draws them in and Dean starts counting backward from one hundred to distract himself so he doesn’t look down and see that goddamn qaa.

It’s been way too fucking long for him that even an Angel is – well, okay, no. He’s been thinking that Cas is hot since the get go. Hell, one of his first thoughts that he’d refused to acknowledge at the time was that it was a fucking pity he’d have to kill someone who looked like _that_. His libido is getting the better of him and that just won’t do. Not right now and definitely not with an Angel. If John doesn’t kill him for not getting the job done, he’d _definitely_ kill him for getting his groove on with the enemy.

Dean looks down at the tattoo on his chest, just under his left collarbone. It’s a five-point star inside a circle, inside a ring of fire, like the sun. It had been covered by the towel, so Cas didn’t see it until now.

“Does it have special meaning?” Cas tilts his head, eyes not leaving Dean’s chest and it’s a fight not to blush under the scrutiny.

“Yeah, but you’re not going to like it.”

Cas looks up at him and his expression somehow manages to be both curious and has that hard edge like he did about the scars. Dean looks away and downs half his beef before he answers.

“It’s the mark of an Angel hunter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas's flowers...
>
>> \- Carnation: disdain, "You have disappointed me"  
> \- Peonies: bashfulness  
> \- Coriander: lust


	10. Storms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But he couldn’t stay at the trailer. Not when Cas was out here and Cas needs to be protected too. It’s ridiculous – crazy, even – that in less than a week Cas has somehow fallen into that category, but for whatever reason Dean's brain is filing him there and it’s driving him up the wall that Cas is just standing there lighting candles with some stick from the fire pit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Just like Dean expected, Cas doesn’t have anything to say to that.

The atmosphere stays tense until Cas shakes out the his cup and tucks it away into his bag. He pours out the rest of the tea and Dean takes the kettle, stretching to put it on the counter next to the door. It’s not like it’s exactly dark out, but it’s getting there. It’ll probably take – at the very least – an hour for Cas to walk from here to his lair and the sun will be behind the mountains by then. Dean doesn’t exactly want to kick Cas out – hell, he’s actually thinking about walking him back to his place, as if this has been some weird version of a date, to make sure he gets home safe. But it’s all sorts of awkward between them right now and walking together would just be weird piled on top of more weird.

The topic about Dean’s day job is one they’ve been trying to avoid pretty much the whole time they’ve been talking – where possible. It’s like a storm cloud they’ve got hanging over their heads. Cas is an Angel and Dean _hunts_ Angels. Jesus, he tried to hunt and _kill_ Cas before they even knew each other. He’s fought Angels and his dad has actually _killed_ them. Jesus, Dean is even sporting more than one scar as proof of what he does and he’s got a goddamn tattoo above his heart to seal the deal.

Technically speaking, he shouldn’t have gotten the tattoo until he’d managed to get himself his first set of wings. But John had insisted that since he’d helped with enough hunts that he’d earned the mark whether he’d made a kill himself or not. Some hunters – the sick ones who treat it as a _sport_ – get feathers tattooed under their marks. One for every Angel they’ve killed. It’s just as disgusting to Dean as it is to cut off an Angel’s wings.

“I should go.” Cas says it soft enough that Dean barely hears it.

It’s starting to get cool and Dean was just about to go put on another shirt. He tugs the towel a little more tightly around his shoulders and stands up as Cas does. “Yeah, okay. You – uh – need anything before you go?”

Cas looks at him with his forehead pinched in that squint-frown and Dean puts a record on repeat in his head that sounds a lot like _notcutenotcutenotcute_. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, a bottle of water to go? A jacket so you don’t freeze? You’re barely wearing anything.” He gestures at Cas’s fur skirt and shoulder pad combo. “I don’t know how you haven’t frozen to death yet.”

“Hamiaah are naturally resistant to the cold and before you ask, I do have different clothing for the winter.” Cas shrugs and ties his bag tighter to his hip. He looks like he’s stalling, but Dean can’t really be sure. “Are you – will you be leaving tomorrow?”

That stops Dean from going into the trailer for a shirt. He hadn’t really be planning on leaving just yet. He wanted to wait until Cas’s arm is okay at the very least. His wing will take longer to heal, obviously, but it’s not like he needs it to fight or protect himself. Having full mobility – with ankle and arm, that’s what Cas needs to be safe – or safer.

Dean shrugs too. “Depends, how’s your arm doing?”

Cas rubs his arm through the sling, pausing to pick at the fraying edges. “Better. If I meditate tonight and space it through tomorrow, my arm could be fully healed by the evening. Is that soon enough?”

Something in the back of his head whispers ‘ _too soon’_. Dean ignores it. “I’ll leave the day after. I still have to clean up around here and pack up the trailer so nothing is falling around in there while I’m driving.” He pauses and rubs a hand over the back of his neck, feeling about as awkward as he did asking Christina Flanagan to the only dance he was ever at a school long enough to go to. “I can stop in tomorrow afternoon. I mean, if you want? I can help out with whatever you need to get done?”

“I need to collect more eggs – from the wild chickens that roost in the hills behind my lair.” Cas gives a reason without missing a beat. “And there are quite a few vegetables that need to be planted soon. I already have seeds ready and I had tilled the garden the day before –.” He shifts on his feet and gestures at his arm and wing as he takes a few steps away from the trailer. “If you want to help with that –”

“Yeah, sure. I could help.” Dean shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets so he’s not being awkward with them – seriously what do people even do with their hands when they’re trying to be nonchalant? “I know shit all about gardening, but you could probably teach me a thing or two. So I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon then?” Jesus, it sounds like he’s making a date or something.

Cas ducks his head in a nod and takes another few steps. The breeze is definitely chillier now and Dean suppresses a shiver, holding the towel over his shoulders like it’s a blanket. It makes Cas’s feathers ruffle and he flares his wing slightly, turning his face into the wind.

“Make it closer to noon – morning if you can. It will likely rain in the afternoon.”

“You can tell that from the wind?”

He shrugs and turns away, starting up the beaten down little path Dean’s made from the trailer to the clearing. “You learn to read what you can smell and taste on the winds and what you see in the skies, if you pay close enough attention. Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas.” Dean says it but he doesn’t actually go back into the trailer until Cas is out of sight, swallowed up by the trees and the bushes.

Somehow it didn’t feel quite _this_ alone out here when it was three weeks of him sitting on his ass in the trailer. Dean takes his mind off it by showering and cleaning up. He calls Bobby while he’s tucking into bed – still on the floor because it’s still more comfortable than trying to fit his too big frame on a too small tabletop bed.

Bobby starts off the conversation getting straight to business and sounding more gruff than usual. “We’re going to tell him that you camped for a month and what signs you saw of Angels were old - old enough that it means they moved on. You tell your little project there –”

“He’s not a project, Bobby.” That’s actually a little insulting.

“Then what do you want to call him since you’re not giving me any names?”

“Do you _need_ to know his name?”

“You’re making friends with an _Angel_ , boy. It’s something for the history books.”

Dean groans and rolls over to hide his face in the pillow. “Bobby. Don’t start. I have friends.”

“I don’t count.” He grunts and Dean thinks he hears the crack-hiss of a beer can in the background. “I’m your friend, but I’m family first. That trumps the friend thing.”

“I _have_ friends.” He grumbles, because he _does_. “There’s Victor, and Benny, and Missouri, Rufus, and the Roadhouse gang.” Dean is going to carefully not think about how he only knows all of them because of John, Bobby, or the job. He’d like to think that maybe he might be friends with all of them regardless of the job being what brought them together.

Bobby laughs, but he doesn’t tell Dean that he’s wrong. “Like I was saying before I was interrupted, tell your Angel that if he keeps the magic to a minimum and stops making things so green up there when the weather is shit, then I’ll keep the rest of the network off his trail. That’s what you want, right?”

“Yeah.” Dean curls on his side, arm tucked under his head. “He’s not bothering anyone. He’s _helping_ people, and the forest. It’s – he’s not _bad_ , Bobby. He’s not that great with people, but he’s nice.”

“Don’t go falling in love, boy.”

“Oh ye of little faith.” Dean laughs, not liking that little twist in his stomach that feels weirdly foreboding – and that’s not a word he uses often. “He’s the one you should be warning. Once I turn on the Winchester charm, no one – winged or otherwise – is safe.”

“A regular Don Juan, huh?”

“You know it.” Dean lets the conversation lull of a beat. “You really think that’s going to keep dad and the network off of him?”

Bobby sighs and there’s a gulping sound – probably taking a few draughts from his can. “It’s the best we can do short of telling your Angel to get the hell out of dodge. We can keep up the ruse and I’ll send you out if I get word of any suspicious activity. The Winchester reputation will protect what you’re doing, but you’re going to have to play it safe around John. He’s a bloodhound when it comes to Angels and if he finds out that you’re _friends_ with one – your friend ain’t gonna be safe for much longer.”

“Yeah, I got it.” And that just gets him thinking.

Dean is still thinking long after they hang up and he probably thinks through his dreams too. It doesn’t feel like he’s rested much by the time his alarm goes off – later than usual because he doesn’t really need to be up at the asscrack of dawn anymore. It’s still pretty dark out, even though his clock is telling him it shouldn’t be. A lean out the door while brushing his teeth tells him it’s clouded over and, son of a bitch, Cas might actually be right about the rain this afternoon.

Please, sweet jumping jellybean Jesus, let it be nothing more than rain. The last thing he needs is a storm sweeping in, especially out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.

He fills a small backpack with the things he’s going to bring to the lair. The satellite phone, his work gloves, a couple bottles of water, a few granola bars, and – to pacify the masses hungering for his health – an apple and a banana. For the hell of it he shoves all his tapes and his walkman in. As a last thought, he stuffs a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants into the bottom of the bag. If it does rain and he gets soaked, he doesn’t want to hang at Cas’s place in wet clothes or – God forbid – have to lay around in his underpants while his clothes dry over the fire. And he’ll want the tapes to keep the boredom from clawing his brain to shreds if Cas gets preachy about caring for vegetables.

He’s just rearranging the last bag of traps in the trunk of the car when he hears the first rumble of thunder. It’s pretty far in the distance and Dean didn’t see any lightning. Hell, the wind isn’t even picking up and there’s no rain yet, just ridiculously threatening clouds filling the sky. But that rolling grumble is all it takes to short circuit Dean’s system.

It’s a storm. It’s a mother fucking _storm_ and Dean needs to find stable shelter. He needs to find somewhere he can be _safe_. But not just him. There’s one other thought in his head.

 _Cas_.

He barely remembers getting the backpack and shutting all the doors and windows. The run to Cas’s place should have tired him out but there’s adrenaline fucking _singing_ through his veins and it’s all Dean can do to _run_ without tripping over his feet.

Of course there had to be a storm. It’s not supposed to be storm season. There shouldn’t be any this early in the year. He knows, he checked. At least John isn’t here to yell at him, to tell him to suck it up and get over it. Dean _can’t_. He’s tried. Breathing exercises and confronting his fears, self help tapes and all the bullshit that’s supposed to make you get over childhood trauma. Dean’s tried it all – except for hypnotism because he’s not letting any voodoo witch doctors into his head for _anything_ – and none of it was any good. Nothing _worked_.

The rain starts less than five minutes from Cas’s front door but it’s enough to get him soaked by the time he tears through the vines, almost ripping a few down, and he nearly stumbles over the little rise in the ground just inside – good that means the water won’t flow in. Cas is sitting cross legged on the couch, fingers linked and palms up in his lap. Dean takes in the light glowing under his feathers for the few seconds before Cas snaps out of whatever trance he’d been in.

“I didn’t think you were going to come with the storm approaching.” Cas stands quickly, shaking out his good wing and rolling his shoulders. If Dean wasn’t so preoccupied with the damn storm, he might think that Cas is almost smiling, but then his expression changes to something close to concern. “You got caught in the rain. I have blankets you can –”

Dean tosses his bag to the end of the couch. “How water tight are the trees? Do you have leaks? What about the windows and the door?”

“I have covers for the windows if necessary, but there’s nothing of import near them that can’t stand to get a little wet. It’s only my mats that shouldn’t get wet –” Cas stops, not even moving from the couch while Dean paces, checking along the seams of the trees to make sure there’s no leak.

There’s a roll of leather above the window that Dean uncurls and buttons down at all six points around the circular edge. There’s the ‘window’ above the door too, but there’s no way for Dean to get at it without a step ladder or wings and that’s worrying. There’s already an arch of a wet patch growing around the door opening.

He points up. “How do we cover that? Do you have anything I can use to get up there?”

“I don’t.” Cas takes a few steps closer. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

Dean chucks his jacket somewhere by the edge of the fire pit, ignoring the glowing coals. He hadn’t even bothered with the shoulder holster – or any of his guns today. He’s got a knife in his boot and that’s really all he has. It’s pretty slack of him for what he’s supposed to carry – especially around an Angel – but Dean doesn’t care. He hasn’t really cared about that for days. The storm is more of a threat to him than Cas is right now.

“We have to cover that window. Can you stand on my shoulders or some –”

“ _Dean_.” Cas puts himself in front of him with both hands up to stop him. For the first time since Dean met him, Cas looks _worried_ – for good reason, he probably looks six different kinds of crazy right now. “Dean, calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s covers for the door right?” Dean can see them right there, like two separate blankets rolled together at their edges. “How do you get them down?”

Cas opens and closes his mouth for a moment. The worried look doesn’t leave, but his forehead gets all creased and pinched again. He checks the window again while Cas goes into the cave, and even though a little water is getting in, it’s not as much as before. Cas comes back with a stick as long as he is tall with a hook at the end. Dean flits around Cas while he uses the big ass stick to make the leathers – waterproofed, apparently – unroll. As soon as they’re unrolled, Dean is on them to button them down around the edges.

He’s not even done fixing them in place when he asks his next question. “Can you reach the window with that stick?”

The attempt is made, but the moment Cas winces, Dean takes the stick from him to do it himself. “Just, let me do it. Take my bag into the back of the cave.”

“Dean –”

“Please, Cas, just do it.”

That makes Cas pause, makes him frown more and step back. He doesn’t actually know if Cas does it, too focused on keeping the stick steady enough to unhook the roll above the opening nearly twice his height above him. It’s harder to use the stick to button it down and Dean damn near ditches the whole effort when the sky outside, above the trees, lights up. He counts the seconds before the thunder and the storm is _way_ too close for his liking.

Once all the coverings are in place, the lair is pretty dark. Dean can’t remember if there’s a flashlight in his bag or not. He didn’t put one in when he was packing it earlier, but he usually has one stored in every bag somewhere. Always be prepared. That’s one of John’s many rules, the coda that he’s beaten – almost literally – into Dean’s head.

But he’s not prepared. Not with a storm whipping up outside and he can hear the wind getting louder as it makes the window coverings shake against the little nails they’re hooked on. Jesus shit, this place is only made of trees. It’s not going to hold up if a twister touches down. Do they even come this far to the North West?

Cas is lighting all sorts of candles around the room and Dean doesn’t even know where he got them.  The fire in the pit has been banked, nothing but glowing coals in the center. Dean’s bag is still lying by the couch and he’d be pissed about that if he wasn’t distracted with the flashes of light around the edges of the covers.

Aren’t you not supposed to hide under trees during a lightning storm? He’s pretty sure that he read that somewhere and that this is a bad idea, this was a terrible idea. He should have stayed in the trailer and at least if that had been struck by lightning, as long as he wasn’t touching any metal than the tires would have grounded it.

 _Jesus_. This was so fucking _stupid_.

But he couldn’t stay at the trailer. Not when Cas was out here and Cas needs to be protected too. It’s ridiculous – crazy, even – that in less than a week Cas has somehow fallen into that category, but for whatever reason Dean's brain is filing him there and it’s driving him up the wall that Cas is just standing there lighting candles with some stick from the fire pit.

Dean grabs his bag and brushes past Cas, careful not to hit his right wing or forearm – even if he isn’t wearing it in the sling anymore. “C’mon, Cas. Forget the candles and get into the cave.” The cave is their best bet for survival. He’s heard of people surviving twisters by hiding under bridges, so hiding in a cave should be just as good – if not better, right?

The first thunderclap – loud enough to shake the fillings in his teeth – surprises them both. Cas’s wing flares out and he whips around to stare at the ceiling – like that’s going to do anything. Dean’s heart is beating up there somewhere around too, because it sure as hell isn’t in his chest anymore. He’s got food, water, supplies to last him a while if there’s any problems. And the cave is full of food and there’s a spring, so there’s more supplies there than he has in his bag. Now he just needs Cas to get to safety too and maybe he’ll calm down enough to be able to wait out the storm.

There are mats in the cave and Dean takes a few to spread them out next to the pool. He sits on it, knees tucked to his chest and his bag against his left side. His clothes are damp and he should change before he catches a cold, but he can’t do it. It’s not priority right now. He’ll save the other change of clothing for later, for when he might really need them. Like if the storm lasts longer and he ends up staying the night or something.

The next thunderclap is loud enough to make Dean cover his ears. It’s a blessing that Dean hasn’t full on _whimpered_. He would shout for Cas to get his fur wearing ass into the cave if he wasn’t already coming into the back of the cave carrying a couple candles. The lichen growing on the rocks apparently isn’t enough for him. Cas makes a few trips to get more from the rest of the lair before he’s satisfied and he sits on one of the rock shelves, watching him.

Cas doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t move. He just sits there and _waits_. And Dean is okay with that. Here in the cave, they’re safe. Cas is in the cave, so Cas is safe and that’s good. He doesn’t want anything to happen to Cas – no one is going to hunt him and Dean and Bobby are going to make sure of that and a storm won’t drop a tornado on him because Dean is here and they’re _safe_ in the cave together.

But the fucking thunder doesn’t stop. It keeps crashing right above his fucking head and it makes him flinch like a sissy every single time. He can’t help it, he can’t stop it. He just wants it to go away and the cave is getting stuffy. It’s getting hard to breathe but he can’t leave because this is where he’s safest and why won’t it fucking _end_ –

Something heavy settles next to him and Dean lifts his head from between his knees long enough to see that it’s Cas. He’s sitting cross legged, hands folded in his lap and eyes closed like when Dean had first walked in what feels like hours ago already. But it’s nice, having Cas sit so close. Dean is starting to shiver in his wet jeans and Cas seems to be radiating all sorts of heat.

It takes another few thunderclaps – loud enough to make even Cas twitch and Dean full-body flinches with every one of them – before anybody actually moves. The only real movement is on Cas’s part. Dean is watching him for lack of anything better to focus on and Cas opens his eyes and tilts his head to look at him. There’s a few moments – minutes – of eye contact that should be awkward but it kinda isn’t, not even lit in fucking _candlelight._

Dean keeps his hands over his ears, but it doesn’t do anything to keep the crash-booms out. He can feel them through the rock and in his bones. Another big one – one he swears shakes loose dirt in the cave ceiling – has Dean ducking his head between his knees again. It probably makes him look like the biggest chicken shit of all time in front of Cas, but he can’t stop it. He wants to, he _hates_ looking weak like this in front of _anyone_ , but the rain and the wind, the lightning and the thunder – he fucking _can’t_ and it’s getting hard to breathe again the more he thinks about it.

He damn near jumps out of his skin when something soft brushes against his neck. That softness is heavy over his back and along his left arm – the side Cas is most certainly _not_ sitting on. He lifts his head again and it’s goddamn feathers; black-blue curving around his shoulder and it’s the weight of the whole thing making him tilt into Cas’s side. Not completely, but it’s noticeable enough for Dean to go still.

Cas still doesn’t say anything. He’s not even moving. He just keeps watching Dean with that slanted side-glance while his wing rests heavy over his back and shoulder. It’s a weight that Dean shouldn’t find nearly as comforting as he does. But he is. He can feel it in how his chest hurts less and it’s getting easier to breathe. For the first time since he can remember during a storm, Dean _relaxes_. It’s only marginal, but it happens. There’s the smell of the earth and Cas, and it covers that electric smell of the lightning and the scent of the rain.

Neither of them says anything – not a ‘thank you’, though he should probably say that – or about how Cas is touching him. It’s the first time they’ve touched purposefully since – fuck, he doesn’t even know when. It sure as hell wasn’t yesterday, was it? Dean’s memory isn’t working quite right when he can still hear the storm raging outside. He can even see the flashes of lightning from all the way back here and it’s really not helping to keep this little calm that Cas is giving him. Dean lets this wing touching happen and all Cas does is tilt his head away again and close his eyes.  

Cas’s whole wing twitches and there’s a sharp little inhale when Dean drops his right arm to cross over his knees and sink his fingers into the feathers. He curls his hand around them and grounds himself in the silk-smooth feel of them. Sure enough, he can practically feel the anxiety start to unknot behind his sternum. Dean rubs his thumb along the longest feather that he’s got curved between his fingers. Dean watches how Cas kinda tenses and has to take a deep breath before he relaxes again, shoulders dropping an inch.

He rests his head on his forearm, still watching Cas doing his mediating thing. The light starts under his feathers again, glowing around Dean’s hand and it makes his skin tingle. His left hand is tucked against his chest, palm spread over his heart. He can actually _feel_ his heart beat slowing down until there’s another thunderclap and then it’s right back up and beating too loud in his ears.

Dean doesn’t know what the other sound is that eventually overtakes his own pulse. Not at first. When he rubs his thumb over the feather again, starting to feel the calm creep back, he can actually separate the sounds. And one of those sounds is coming from Cas. He lifts his head again and he listens. Cas is singing – or humming – some weird combination of both. It sounds familiar but he’s not sure where he’s might have heard it before.

He doesn’t wait for Cas to finish.

“What’s that?”

Cas stops mid hum and doesn’t even open his eyes. “A folk song. You should recognize it. It’s one of the ones Hamiaah taught Humans before the rift between our peoples formed.”

“You call that music?” Dean snorts. He doesn’t let go of the feathers, holding on with his right hand while he gropes at his bag with his other. “It’s not quite what I listen to.” And then he does what he hasn’t done without the radio playing.

He starts with ‘Ramble On’ and keeps singing as loud as he can, the cave echoing with his voice more than it does the thunder. After that, he moves into ‘Renegade’, and after that he goes into more. Cas watches him through every song he sings, head tilted with that confused-curious look that Dean tries to ignore every time he sees it.

The rain is still pouring outside by the time Dean’s voice gives out. But he doesn’t give up. This is working. For the first time, he’s found something that’s helping distract him from a storm and it’s not John yelling at him. It’s not switching one fear for another and it’s actually a little nice.

It’s a bitch to move one handed, but he refuses to let go of Cas’s wing. For some weird ass reason, it’s giving him some kind of comfort and Dean’s going to take it wherever he can in the middle of a goddamn storm. He does eventually get his walkman out and loads a tape into it when his voice gives out. He offers an earbud to Cas, explaining how to put it in while he does the same with the other one.

Cas makes a crinkled-nose face and his whole expression shifts between confused and horrified when Dean presses play. It’s his Metallica tape and it’s one of the best in his collection. Not exactly his favourite, but _damn_ good. Dean actually manages a _laugh_ at every reaction Cas has to the songs. A lot of it is in his wings and the feathers ripple and twitch under his fingers.  

It’s when he’s switching out for the AC/DC tape that Cas slaps a hand over his arm. “Don’t you have any ‘music’ that doesn’t shatter your ear drums?”

Okay, he does. But it’s a secret tape that not even Sam knows he owns. An ex-girlfriend made it for him; a mix tape to celebrate all of a week’s worth of dates that Dean went out on with her before John dragged his ass out of school to move him and Sammy on to the next state. Most of the songs on it he despises enough that he can’t even listen to them. But there are a few that he makes exception for.

He changes out the tapes and hesitates before he presses the play button. “If you tell anyone I have this in my possession – let alone that I listen to it – I will hunt you down.”

Cas levels him with the blankest expression he’s probably ever given Dean and it’s amusing as fuck. “Who would I tell?”

Touché. But Dean still gives him a pointed look and presses play. The song is much softer – Bon Jovi has that effect – and Cas’s wings twitches under his fingers. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes get wider and he’s sorta staring at Dean, sorta not. It’s one of those not-really-looking-at-you stares while he listens to the song.

When it’s over, Cas touches his arm again, gently. “Could you play that song again? Please?”

Dean rewinds the tape slightly and they listen to the song over and over again. Cas likes it enough that he relaxes, leaning into Dean’s shoulder more than before. Dean doesn’t comment on it, and he doesn’t even complain that Cas starts humming along the third time around. The fourth time he starts mouthing the lyrics and Dean should be worried that Cas likes ‘Bed of Roses’ so much, but it’s kind of a little cute. It’s not even surprising, considering Cas and his flower problem.

Speaking of, there’s a few of them that sprouts along the edges of the mat by the time he presses play for the fifth time. By ‘few’, Dean means that there are only a couple stalks. But these stalks are kinda shaped like nerf bats and full of purple flowers. They’re not the same flower shape like the lavender that he saw the other day and Dean doesn’t really feel like asking what they are.

“Delphinium.” Cas says around mouthing the lyrics even though Dean didn’t even say anything.

The name of the flower means nothing to Dean and he still doesn’t feel like asking about them. Cas’s emotions and the flowers that happen because of them aren’t something Dean can exert any control over, so why should he care?

At some point, Dean dozes. There are rumbles in the distance, but it’s not nearly as loud as it was to start. Dean sleeps under a curled wing to the sound of Cas humming along to Bon Jovi. He sort of wakes ups when Cas takes the walkman from him, but he’s back under before the rewind is finished whirring.

He’s pretty much in the same position when he wakes up later, except his head is tilted against Cas’s shoulder and he can feel Cas’s cheek against the top of his head. Most of the candles have puttered out and Dean has no idea what time it is. He could check his watch, but that would require moving and moving would disturb Cas and Dean is pretty sure that Cas is sleeping.

Cas’s wing twitches against his shoulder and Dean realizes he still has his feathers caught between his fingers. He thinks about letting go, but he doesn’t really want to just yet. If the storm is over with, he should probably leave. He’ll get Cas checked into the nearest mental hospital, wings or not, if he even so much as thinks of suggesting that they go hunt for eggs or garden after that storm.

“It’s still raining and it’s late into the afternoon.” Cas says into his hair and Dean’s heart makes a violent bid for freedom against his ribs. They both sit up and Cas stretches everything but his wing, since Dean still has a death grip on his feathers. “You can stay the night. If you’ll let me go, I’ll get you some blankets. Would you prefer sleeping back here or out on the othil?”

“Oh-tah-hi-el? Are you talking about the couch in your living room?” Dean loosens his grip and lets Cas’s feathers slip through his fingers.

Cas’s wing flares out immediately and Dean sort of hates that he has to tell himself he doesn’t miss the weight over his shoulders or the feel of the feathers. And he definitely doesn’t miss that weird earthy smell Cas’s wings have that just _grounded_ him during his usual storm-induced panic attack.

It’s when Cas stands up that Dean notices that there aren’t any bandages around his arm anymore. “You’re all fixed up?”

“Yes. You sleep very soundly.” Cas stretches until his back pops and he holds his right arm out, rotating his wrist to prove that it’s better. “Were you tired?”

“I haven’t slept right for nearly a month.” Dean muffles a yawn and stretches without standing. “If I sleep on your weird ohtalilly, where do you sleep? You can’t get to your nest yet, right?”

“I could use my powers to make the vines grow to lower it, but it’s a chore to do it every time. I just make a spare _othil_ with my spare mats.” He holds his hand out to help him to his feet and Dean waves him off, groping around on the mat for his walkman.

“Yeah, I’ll sleep out there. Go ahead, I’ll catch up. I want to change.” He finds the walkman and starts rooting around in the bag for his spare clothes.

Another crop of garnish-flowers sprout where the nerf-flowers had been and he ignores those as easily as he did the ones before. Cas doesn’t comment on them and leaves him there. Dean would call him weird, but it’s an Angel thing and there are probably a ton of Human things that he does that Cas thinks are weird too.

Dean changes quickly, shoving his dirty clothes into the bottom of the bag. The satellite phone is in his hand for all of two seconds when he remembers his conversation with Bobby earlier. He drops it in favour of the little notepad he has in one of the backpack’s pockets. A few scribbled instructions and the reprogramming of the speed dial later, and then he’s hiding the satellite phone and note in one of the storage cubbies. It’s not exactly behind some bags of grain or whatever, but it’s wedged in enough that it won’t be found right away.

No one is supposed to call him for the next few days and he told Bobby he’d call him when he’s setting out. He’ll just call Bobby from the road instead, once he has cell service and he’ll call the satellite phone right after. That way he can explain to Cas that it’s a solar charged battery and he should just leave it in the sun for it to charge itself. If Cas gets in trouble, he can hold down the number one button and it’ll call Dean immediately. If Dean needs to call Cas up and tell him to get the fuck out because hunters are on the way, he’ll have this point of contact.

He thought today – or tomorrow, rather – would be the last time he sees Cas. Maybe he can continue to trick himself into thinking that he’s only doing this – the thing with the phone – because he still doesn’t feel like he’s made up for busting him up.

Cas’s voice echoes off the cave walls as he calls out from wherever he is in the kitchen. “Are you hungry? We can make some flatcakes.”

Or maybe it’s because having to say goodbye to Cas completely makes him feel queasy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Delphinium: levity, fun, joy  
> \- Coriander: lust


	11. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Yeah, that hurts too. It shouldn’t. Dean isn’t supposed to _want_ to hang around here any longer than he has to. That’s not how it’s supposed to go. He’s supposed to think that taking care of Cas and helping him out is some kind of penance, right? So why the hell does that _hurt_? Why does it make his stomach feel like it wants to hit the reject button on everything he just ate? That’s just – fuck. _Why?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Turns out flatcakes are exactly what Dean thought they were: really flat (and ridiculously tasteless) pancakes. The only saving grace is the maple syrup that Cas digs out of one of the cubbies. Dean gets the apple and the banana – both slightly bruised – from his bag and uses his knife to cut them in half, sharing them with Cas. He receives a small ‘thank you’ in return, but that’s about the only words either of them speak during the whole meal.

It’s like a dense cloud of _awkward_ decided to extract itself from the sky to make a cozy new home between them on the ohtalilly (he’s probably never going to pronounce that right no matter what, so he might as well just keep calling it a _couch_ ). Dean doesn’t know what to talk about and Cas rarely talks unless they actually manage to strike up some kind of conversation. At least Cas isn’t saying anything about Dean being a giant sissypants and freaking out over a little storm. He might have actually punched Cas out if he’d made a comment like that.

As for right now, Cas isn’t saying anything about it and neither is Dean. They’re just sitting in silence, eating their food and drinking the bottled water that Dean brought. He’ll fill the bottles in the spring before he leaves tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Or evening. Whatever. It’ll be whenever he wakes up and Cas kicks his ass out. Because Cas is all better now, isn’t he? Well, except for his wing. But he can walk around and do shit now and he doesn’t need Dean to help with the eggs or the garden.

He doesn’t need Dean.

Ouch. Why does that thought hurt? Wasn’t that the whole point of him helping Cas out? He only did it so he wouldn’t feel so fucking _guilty_. And so Cas wouldn’t be alone in the middle of a frikken forest with a busted arm and leg that would take a fortnight to heal.

Wait. Hold up. How long is a fortnight? Dean knows this. Sam told him it once when he was studying Shakespeare in school. It’s just buried in his brain somewhere and he just needs to think about it. Sam used that word for a whole month instead of saying – instead of saying – Right!

“I thought you said it would take two weeks for you to heal everything but your wing.”

Cas looks up from his plate, forehead crinkled in a frown. Dean should really warn him about wrinkles at some point if he’s going to keep doing that. “It would have if I’d split the healing energy between all my wounds like I would normally do. Instead I focused on one at a time, starting with what was the simplest to heal and I devoted myself to it every night to the point of exhaustion.”

“Why would you do it like that?” He passes over his empty plate when Cas gestures for it, watching him get up and take it to the pot of water by the door to clean off.

“Because you said you wouldn’t leave until I was healed.”

Oh. Yeah, that hurts too. It shouldn’t. Dean isn’t supposed to _want_ to hang around here any longer than he has to. That’s not how it’s supposed to go. He’s supposed to think that taking care of Cas and helping him out is some kind of penance, right? So why the hell does that _hurt_? Why does it make his stomach feel like it wants to hit the reject button on everything he just ate? That’s just – fuck. _Why?_

Dean is pretty sure that nothing is showing on his face about the thoughts in his head right now, but Cas still looks over his shoulder and his frown gets deeper. He finishes with the plates and takes them back into the cave before coming to sit down next to Dean again.

“What I meant by that –”

“No, it’s cool. I understand –”

“Clearly you don’t –”

“You want me out, I get it. I kinda forced myself on you here and –”

Cas makes a noise that sounds a helluva lot like a _growl_ and his wing flares out, smacking Dean in the shoulder and nearly knocking him off the couch. “Would you just shut up and _listen_.”

Dean shuts up and listens.

“You have made it a point to say that you’re not leaving until I am healed.” Cas shuffles his wing into place against his back and he starts raking his fingers through the fur of his skirt, like he’s fidgeting or something. “I was under the impression that caring for me is a chore that you are forcing on yourself to alleviate the guilt you feel over wounding me without a proper reason to. As unusual as it is for me to have a visitor, let alone a _Human_ , I haven’t entirely – it hasn’t been –” He frowns down at his lap and looks away toward the cave.

There’s a rustling noise behind him and Dean turns around to watch a new flower bloom up the trees behind the couch. These are probably the weirdest ones so far. They look like willow branches or a kind of long, red-pink tube shaped thing covered in tons of itty bitty flowers. From where he’s sitting they look soft, but when Dean leans in the flowers look spiky and they probably wouldn’t hurt if he did touch him, but they look pretty neat.

“I haven’t entirely disliked our time together.” Cas says it quietly, as if he’s hoping that Dean won’t hear it. “I thought devoting my energy to healing myself as soon as possible was what you wanted. So you wouldn’t be forcing yourself to stay here with me when you would rather be returning to civilization.”

Dean is going to need to have a very serious talk with his stomach after this. Right now it’s doing ridiculous back flips and he’s pretty sure whatever the hell decided to nest behind his ribs is a little too close to _happy_ for him to like it. But he _does_ like it. And that’s just – Jesus, John is going to fucking kill him. Sparing the life of an Angel is one thing. Not wanting to leave because he’s actually _enjoying_ Cas’s company is – that is a whole different galaxy of trouble.

He should really say something instead of staring at the back of Cas’s head. Which is now his ear. And oh, there’s Cas’s face. Shit. Dean swallows compulsively and he’s hoping his mouth isn’t hanging open – a quick lip-lick answers that with a ‘no’. And he’s pretty sure that he’s imagining that Cas just watched that. No, Cas is still most definitely looking him in the eye. Doesn’t he have anything better to do than stare at Dean with that kicked-puppy look? It’s making his insides decide to take up being a three-ring circus and that’s not the greatest of idea for an after dinner source of entertainment.

 _Say something you idiot_.

“Oh.”

Dean damn near slaps his forehead over that. Really? Out of everything that he could have said, he comes out with an _‘Oh’_? Someone strike him down where he sits, _please_.

Cas gets that frown again, deeper this time, and Dean wants to keep pretending he’s not seeing something that looks a little too much like disappointment in those baby blues. Dean still doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what to do. He could say that he’s enjoyed his time here too, that he’s thinking of Cas as some kind of friend, that he kinda wants to come back and visit whenever he can get away from his dad, that he’s sorry for fucking up Cas’s wing and that he hopes he’ll still be able to fly with it, that –

Fuck.

His chance to say anything goes out the window. Cas is back on his feet and working over in the kitchen. He’s packing up everything that they used to make the flatcakes and every movement is sharp and, Jesus, Dean thinks Cas is _angry_. Of course he is. He went and admitted something like that and Dean didn’t have anything better than a goddamn ‘Oh’ _._ Shit. Did Dean just fuck this up?

Dean gets up slowly and checks around the covering over the door. The rain is still pouring and he’s quickly losing his ability to hold it in. He rocks side to side and thinks about asking Cas about an umbrella or something, or whatever he does when he has to take a piss during bad weather. At least he doesn’t have to take a number two, but it still sucks and he doesn’t exactly want to talk to Cas after the – after whatever the hell just happened.

“There is a heavy pot in the back of the cave full of sand. You can use that if you don’t want to go out and get wet.”

Maybe Cas has psychic powers too.

He spends more time in the back of the cave than he has to. Now it’s awkward between them – more than before – and Dean feels like a dick. A colossal dick of epic proportions. The least he should do is apologize, or – fuck. The words won’t go from his head to his mouth. They’re getting stuck somewhere on the back of his tongue and Dean _hates_ it. He’s usually pretty good with his words. Maybe not _feelings_ words, but he can use regular words just fine.

The kitchen is clean and everything ready to go back into the cave when Dean comes out of the cave. Cas doesn’t even look at him. He just grabs the stuff to put it away, leaving Dean standing in the middle of the room, alone, and looking like a dumbass. He can handle a little rain. It’s thunder, lightning and wind that he can’t take.

Cas comes back and goes straight to the fire, he’s got grass and a bundle of twigs in his hand. He kneels at the edge of the pit and starts building it up again. And Dean can’t do anything but watch. He’ll open his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out.

_Goddammit._

“Cas –”

His wing twitches out slightly. “It’s still early. If you want something to do, I need to sort materials for the next mat.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighs and rubs his hand through his hair roughly. “Yeah, okay.”

They spend the next few hours doing that. In complete silence. Dean can’t even bring himself to get his walkman. Anytime he looks up from separating everything by length and cutting the ones that don’t fit any of the piles, Cas either has his back to him or he’s on the other side of the room doing something with bowls, jars and at one point he goes into the cave to come back with a pretty big pot that’s sloshing with water.

He moves some mats from the floor by close to the window – almost directly under it, in fact – which seems really weird to Dean, but okay. There’s another fire pit under the mats, smaller, and it doesn’t have a stand over it. Dean stops long enough to watch Cas transfer some of the coals over and set the water to boiling. He dumps things from the bowls and jars into it. After awhile, he comes over for the stuff Dean is working with. One of the batches gets added to the pot and Cas uses a stirring stick to mix it around a bit.

The quiet is _really_ starting to get on his nerves now. “What’s that?”

Cas’s wing twitches again. “Dye. It will need to simmer for a few days.”

Talk. Talk. _Try_ , at the very least. This tenseness is _killing_ him. “Cas, I –”

“You can start tying up those bundles and stacking them over here.” He gestures to a space not far from the second fire pit. “Once we’ve cleaned up, it will be time to sleep. I can give you a miswak stick to clean your teeth, if you’d like one.”

“What the hell is a miswak stick?”

“A teeth cleaning stick. The inside of the stick is naturally bristled and you rub it over your teeth to clean them. I grow them myself.” Cas tosses some string over to tie the bundles up and Dean doesn’t get the chance to say anything else until he slaps a twig the length of his hand into his palm.

Even then it’s just a “Huh?” and Cas walks him through using a friggen _stick_ to brush his teeth. It’s the weirdest thing Dean’s ever done, but it explains Cas’s pearly whites. The whole time he’s scrubbing carefully, Cas is standing by the door with the edge of the covering pulled back. He’s absently cleaning his own teeth while looking out at the rain.

Cas spits out the door and steps aside to let Dean do the same. “It will rain through the night, but I can’t guarantee that the storm won’t start again. Will you be bothered if it starts while you’re sleeping?”

Dean makes a face and turns away, rubbing his hands on his pants. His palms starting sweating the moment Cas mentioned a storm and it’s making that panicky feeling flutter behind his sternum again. “Not unless it wakes me up.”

“Then it would be best if you were to sleep soon. Would you like a blanket?” He buttons down the cover again and heads back into the cave, brushing by in a flurry of feathers and Dean is _positive_ that Cas is avoiding him now.

Shit, he really did fuck this up.

If Cas doesn’t want to talk to him anymore, maybe he should take back the satellite phone stashed in the cave. But how’s he supposed to get a warning to Cas if a hunter is ever headed this way? No. He should leave the phone and he’ll just not make unnecessary phone calls. Not that he was planning to call Cas once a week or something to make sure he’s doing okay or anything.

“What about your bed?”

“I’ll make it while you’re getting comfortable.” Cas comes back and he’s got a roll of mats under one arm and a couple blankets folded over the other.

He practically shoves the blankets into Dean’s arms and it’s enough to punch the words out of him in an embarrassing rush of sound. “I don’t hate it here.”

And _that_ gets Cas to look at him. It makes him stop and stare, his feathers puffed and one wing partially spread in surprise. White flowers bloom around his feet and when Dean looks down at them, Cas does too. He makes a frustrated noise and steps away from them, crossing the room to set up the mats between the fire pits. These new flowers hang from green stalks, three big petals like a weird skirt around a small tube of green and white petals. It reminds Dean of light fixtures he’s seen in the fancier motels he and John have stayed in.

Cas unrolls the bundle of mats and starts laying them out. Something about that doesn’t feel right. Dean’s  stomach doesn’t feel right. If there’s the chance of a storm tonight, he doesn’t really want Cas that far away. But he doesn’t want to ask him to move closer. That’s – it’s weird, right? Asking him to sleep closer in case another storm rolls in while he’s sleeping? It feels weird and Dean can’t really bring himself to ask. It goes against everything he is.

So it’s best to keep his mouth shut. Even if it’s not what he wants to do.

Dean kicks his boots off at the end of the couch. “Do you want one of these blankets?”

“I don’t need one, thank you. Use them as you see fit.”

He leaves one folded at one end of the couch as a makeshift pillow. Dean sits with the other spread over his lap and he twists the edge of it between his fingers like some nervous preteen about to ask out their first date. It’s not like he’s going to actually ask or anything. It would be too weird. He didn’t ask Cas to sit next to him earlier and just because holding onto his feathers was weirdly calming – wow, he really needs to stop thinking the word ‘weird’. Maybe he should stop thinking entirely and just lay down and sleep or something.

If he can. Dean did kind of nap for a good chunk of the day, didn’t he? It’s hard to keep track of time here. He’s got a watch on his wrist but out here he doesn’t feel the need to check it constantly. There’s no timetable, nothing to worry about. They just work until the work is done, or until the sun sets and Dean kind of really likes that. It’s a different kind of freedom than the ones he’s used to. It’s refreshing.

Once Cas has the mats laid out just the way he likes them, he starts going around the room and putting out the candles. The only light left is the glowing embers of the dye pot’s pit and the fire smoldering in the cooking pit. Dean drops onto his side and pulls the blanket up to his shoulder, making himself comfortable.

Cas is just a darker shadow on more shadows when he settles down on the mats. Dean would say that he’s surprised that Cas sleeps on his stomach or his side, but he’s really not. It can’t be comfortable to sleep on his back with those wing joints in the way. It would be like Dean sleeping on his arm. Can wings fall asleep like arms and legs do? He’ll have to ask Cas that in the morning or something.

“Goodnight, Dean.”

“I meant it, y’know?” Dean says instead and immediately mentally kicks himself in the ass for it. He watches Cas’s wing stretch up in the dark before it settles again. “It’s – this started out – this hasn’t been a punishment for me. It was supposed to be, but it’s –”

The smile is nearly audible and Dean really wishes the room was bright enough to actually _see_ it. He hasn’t seen a real smile on Cas yet. It’s just been in the eyes so far and even that’s up to interpretation. “You don’t need to explain further. I understand.”

“So you’re not gonna be mad at me in the morning?”

“I wasn’t mad at you before.”

“Yeah, you kinda were. You’ve been silent treatment-ing me since supper.”

“Would you like me to apologize?”

“No, dude, _I’m_ apologizing –”

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

He huffs and rolls onto his other side, putting his back to the room. “Night, Cas.”

The rain, the crackle-pop of coals, and their breathing is all that’s left in the room. Dean is used to a more absolute silence. Even when he’s camping with John there’s barely any sound. This isn’t bad. It’s nice. It sounds _lived in_. It sounds like a home. And Dean kind of hates that he’s going to have to leave it.

When he falls asleep, it’s that thought spinning around in his head. That thought and how much it fucking _scares_ him.

Dean wakes up to the smell of flowers, that fresh after-rain smell, and a familiar earthy scent he can’t quite place. His blanket is heavier than he remembers, but it’s comforting. He yawns and rolls onto his back, bringing his hands up to stretch out. Except he stops the moment his arms brush up against something soft and shifting and there’s a surprised sound somewhere off to his left.

He groans and opens his eyes to a curve of blue-black above his chest. Without thinking, Dean rakes his fingers through – feathers…? It’s feathers. Why are there feathers over him? A tilt of his head to the left shows those white rose-like flowers he’d seen before, back in the clearing when he had lunch with Cas. They’re ringing the couch and the mats set up next to it but why are there mats next to the couch when there weren’t any when he went to sleep last night?

More importantly, why is Cas propped up on his elbows and watching him while his eyes are doing their best interpretation of dinner plates?

“How long have you been there?” Dean flexes his fingers in the feathers and Cas’s whole wing twitches.

“Since the thunder nearly woke you in the middle of the night.” Cas props his chin on the palm of one hand and flicks at the flowers with his other hand, face shifting back into neutral and except for the glare he’s giving the flower. “You were unsettled. I moved over here and covered you with my wing like I did before. You calmed down and slept soundly afterward. I woke up not long ago.”

The information processes in slow little clicks, one after another. Well, shit. “Oh. Uh – thanks for that.”

He uncurls his fingers from Cas’s feathers and drops his hands to his chest. Cas’s wing stretches up and out before folding against his back again. Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t even know what to say, when Cas gets up to roll the mats together again. The flowers are starting to wilt, withering into the ground and fading away. Dean watches them until Cas has his mats put away. It isn’t until he’s out to go use the piss-patch that Dean even gets up to fold the blankets and take them to the back of the cave.

Dean takes the satellite phone back long enough to call Bobby and leave a message that he’s sticking around for another day. He explains that he’ll leave tomorrow morning because there was a storm yesterday and he didn’t get all his shit done. It’s not entirely the truth, but it’s enough of it that he’s not outright lying to Bobby – which makes him _really_ uncomfortable to do.

While he makes breakfast – oatmeal dusted with cinnamon and mixed with berries – Cas rolls up all the window coverings and the sun lights the place up enough to make Dean squint.

Half way through eating, Dean realizes that maybe – just maybe – Cas might not want him sticking around for another day. No matter what he said last night, Dean might have heard or interpreted wrong and he could totally be overstaying his welcome if he just decides to be here to help. It’s not like he can’t leave today. There’s maybe an hour’s worth of work left in the trailer, but otherwise everything else is ready to go. He could, technically, head out today instead of spending another day out here in the boonies – but there’s that tight feeling in his stomach again.

 _He doesn’t want to leave yet_.

Dean looks around the room slowly, rotating the bowl in his hands. “So… Do you still want help with the chickens and that garden?”

Cas stops stirring his dye-pot and his wing does that shuffling thing again. He doesn’t look up and after a moment of hesitation – one that Dean translates into a thousand things that probably don’t mean anything like what Cas actually means – he goes back to stirring. “I would rather wait for the ground to dry a little more before I do the planting. If you’re willing to aid with the chickens, I wouldn’t mind the assistance.”

He stands up, ready to clean his dish and the one that Cas left at the couch. When Cas glances up, Dean grins across the room at him, wide and bright and – well, he’s going to just keep telling himself that he’s not actually feeling as happy as he really is.

“I’m all yours, just tell me what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s flowers…
>
>> \- Love Lies Bleeding: hopelessness  
> \- Snowdrop: hope  
> \- Gardenia: you’re lovely  
> 


	12. Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not _letting_ them. They just _happen_.” Cas huffs and pushes up. The weight on Dean leaves and that feels awesome – except for the tug to his other hand. There’s a moment’s pause and then Cas speaks suspiciously softly. “Your hand is caught in one of the straps of my wrap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

The moment Dean finishes speaking, those fist-sized pink flowers from the other day explode across the room in a wave that wafts around Dean’s feet so suddenly he nearly trips over them. Amusingly enough, Cas swears at the same time as he does – only in a different language. Cas’s one wing flares out as wide as it will go, the other straining against the rope and the bandages.

“Okay, for a reaction like that you _have_ to know which emotion the flowers are reacting too.” Dean frowns down at them and then back up at Cas. “Seriously, what is it this time?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.” Cas folds his wing in tight against his back again but his feathers are still puffed and he uses a stick to shove the coals around under the dye pot.

He stands up and picks his way through the flowers to the cave. Dean hesitates. Clearly this is _nothing_ but Cas obviously doesn’t want to talk about it and he shuts down whenever Dean pushes about it so –so he does nothing. He gets his jacket and laces up his boots while he waits for whatever Cas is doing.

Cas comes back with a basket, a coil of rope over one shoulder, and a long stick with a split at one end. He shoves the basket into Dean’s arms and Dean raises his eyebrows at him, but Cas barely even looks at him. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say that Cas was – is Cas _embarrassed_? Why? Is it because he asked about the flowers? Dean doesn’t think what he said would warrant the red ears as Cas leads the way out into the sunshine.

Dean squints against the light and takes a moment to look around the forest. Cas doesn’t wait for him, already trekking off through the trees on some invisible path that Dean can’t see. He stumbles after him, pushing aside branches and stepping over roots and bushes.

“Are you pissed at me or something?” He asks, tripping over his third root.

They go around the house to the rock pile and further beyond that where the ground slopes upward. It becomes a cliff on the left and Dean stays away from that. He’s not exactly very fond of heights and he doesn’t want anything to give out from under his feet. Who knows what the rain might have knocked loose during the storm last night?

“No.”

“Then why are you all pissy?”

“I’m not.”

“You kinda are.” Dean catches up.  

“I’m not.” Cas just starts walking faster.

He stops sharply, ready to throw down the basket if he needs to. “Dude, if you don’t want me to come egg hunting with you or something, just say it. I can go back to my camp and finish up and be out of here before lunch.”

Cas stops too, his good wing flexing against his back. He turns around quickly and his frown is kind of scary – even if he’s not really looking at Dean. “No, I –” He stops, sighs, and turns away slightly as his shoulder relax a little. “Stay. I’m sorry – I’m not used to the flowers reacting like that. It’s – it’s unsettling.”

It doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines. Cas isn’t used to _feeling_. He’s a soldier and a hermit. And even if Cas says that he lives out here alone _by choice_ , from what Dean’s learned so far he can hazard a guess that he made that choice to get away from being treated like shit for whatever _disgrace_ he’d had. And that was what, fifty years ago? So it’s been awhile since he’s spent a significant amount of time around someone.

“Sorry – I could, uh, not surprise you so much?” He starts walking again and Cas starts too when he’s level with him. “I know that I can be a bit of a shock to the system. Dean Winchester is an acquired taste, after all.”

“You most certainly are.” Cas tilts his head and oh-hoh, that might actually be a _smile_. Nope, not quite. Almost, though. Dean’s getting closer to seeing one.

Cas leads him to an area that doesn’t look any different from the rest of the forest, if you don’t count the chickens clucking around the bases of the trees. The chickens scatter when they get close and Dean looks around. He can’t spot any nests and he definitely doesn’t see any eggs. At least not until Cas taps his shoulder and points up. The nests are easy to spot in amongst the lowest branches.

“I thought chickens can’t fly. At least, that’s what the Chicken Run movie taught me.”

“Not for long distances, or very high. They roost in the lower branches to avoid predators.” Cas explains as he leans his stick up against a tree and steps up onto an exposed root. “I’ll climb up and drop the rope to you once I’m settled. Tie it around the basket and I’ll send it back down when I’m done.”

“You’ve got the bum wing, I should go up.” Dean starts taking off his jacket so it doesn’t restrict him.

“No. Your job is going to be to keep the chickens away.” Cas gestures vaguely and then he’s already shimmying up the tree like a goddamn monkey.

Dean waits around for Cas to get settled and drop him the rope. He watches the chickens to make sure that none of them go apeshit before they even start taking the eggs. “How am I supposed to make sure they don’t try to peck your eyes out?”

“Chase them away.” Cas calls down, the rope snaking through the branches for Dean to grab.

He wraps it around the basket, threading it through hoops in the edge around where the lid stays in place. Cas hauls it up and it’s only a few minutes until the chickens starts squawking. Dean flaps his jacket at them, trying to chase them away from the tree that Cas is in. More than one spreads its wings and tries charging at him and Dean is violently reminded of those crazy bastards from those Zelda games. He never had his own game, but he did get to play with them a few times in schools where he managed to have friends who would let him play their systems.

“I’m done!”

Dean looks over toward the tree and the basket is already on the ground, the rope piled over it as if all Cas did was drop it. He makes his way over to the tree and looks up at Cas. The little worried flutter in behind his ribs is annoying. Especially since he doesn’t know if it’s because Cas is about to start climbing down and he could fall or because he can see right up that stupid skirt and Cas has nice thighs. _Really_ nice thighs. The kind that Dean would really, _really_ like to put his mouth on.

Cas gets down fine and they move to the next tree. It’s no different and this time the chickens don’t go _that_ crazy over it. Dean only has to stand under Cas and flap the jacket to keep them away. But he suspects that they might be plotting his demise in some gruesome way. It might even involve chicken shit in his shoes. He’ll have to make sure they don’t follow him home.

He hears the thump of the basket behind him and that weird slithering sound that falling rope makes. The next thing he hears is the creak of a branch above his head, a snap and a curse. Dean looks up in time to get an armful of half-naked Angel. His knees give out under the sudden weight and spots dance in front of his eyes when they hit the ground.

“Owww –” Dean groans. Something is digging into his back and he thinks it might either be a rock or a twig or it could be his own foot. He can’t really tell. “Payback for shooting you out of a tree, huh?”

There’s a grumbling noise somewhere down on his chest and the heavy weight sitting on everything below his clavicle shifts. That just makes the thing digging into his back dig in more and Dean hisses. “Stop. Stop moving.”

“If I don’t move, I can’t get up.”

“You’re making shit hurt more. Stop moving.” Dean untangles his hand from where it’s pinned between what feels like Cas’s arm and his stomach. He rolls to one side slightly, which only makes Cas grumble at him more – this time in a different language, and he gropes under him from whatever’s trying to stab him in the back. Rock. Called it.

Dean makes a relieved noise as he throws it away and drops back into place. “Yeah, now you can move.” Something tickles the side of his face and Dean tilts his head to look to get a face full of those stupid pink flowers again. “Seriously, Cas?”

“Peonies are beautiful, stop mocking them.”

“I’m not. I wanna know why the hell you keep letting them grow.”

“I’m not _letting_ them. They just _happen_.” Cas huffs and pushes up. The weight on Dean leaves and that feels awesome – except for the tug to his other hand. There’s a moment’s pause and then Cas speaks suspiciously softly. “Your hand is caught in one of the straps of my wrap.”

Dean looks down and blinks at one of the straps over Cas’s chest that keeps his furry shoulder pads tied to the wrap around his waist. His wrist is between it and Cas’s chest and the skin against the back of his hand is warm and smooth and Dean should move it _right now_. He jerks his arm away and Cas gets up on his knees – and Dean is not going to _not_ notice how Cas is straddling his leg. If he lets himself notice that, then he’s going to think about the weight on his thigh and what exactly is pressing against his leg.

Funny how not thinking about it means being aware of what he’s not supposed to be thinking about.

“You didn’t break anything again, did you?” Face. Look at the face. Eyes, nose, lips – no, Jesus Christ, he shouldn’t look at Cas’s lips.

“No.” Cas gets his feet under him and offers Dean his hand to help him up. “You?”

Dean winces until he’s upright and immediately takes a few steps back to put some kind of _space_ between him and Cas and all his freaking _skin_. Goddammit. The first thing he’s going to do the moment he hits civilization again is find the first willing body and get his month long dry spell over with. He will not perve on Cas, he will not perve on Cas, _he will not perve on Cas._

“I’m – Yeah, I’m fine. Uh - do we – do you need more eggs or are we good here?”

Cas nods and squats by the basket, doing something with the rope to turn it into a shoulder strap or something. “Yes, this is enough to last me a week. Thank you for your help.”

“No problem.” Dean kicks a rock away and finds wherever his jacket fell. The chickens aren’t bothering them anymore since they’re not up by the nests but Dean can feel the beady little eyes glaring at him and he doesn’t like it. “So, now what?”

“I thought we could work the garden over, to prepare it for seeding. I’ll do that tomorrow.” Cas shoulders the ropes and stands.

They head back toward the house and this time Dean gets to carry the big stick. He tries not to act like a complete kid and swing it around – using it more like a walking stick than anything else. Cas only glares at him if he uses the pronged end on the ground. At some point Cas starts humming and Dean almost laughs when he recognizes ‘Bed of Roses’.

Instead of going by the exact path they’d taken before, Cas veers off as the ground starts to slope down again. Once he gets his bearings, Dean realizes it’s actually not that far from Cas’s house - a few minute’s walk at the most. Cas’s vegetable garden is just a great big patch of dirt at the moment, still dark and muddy from the storm last night.

Cas puts the egg basket down and takes the stick from him. Dean tries not to shudder as Cas heads out into the garden like there isn’t mud squishing up between his toes. It’s disgusting and Dean wrinkles his nose, trying not to think about it. Dean stands there bouncing his fist against his thigh while Cas starts using the stick to make furrows in the mud. He has to do it a few times to make the mud stay in place.

Dean looks around the area, taking in the complete lack of any kind of chicken wire or anything. “Hey, how do you keep the animals out?”

“Hair and plants.”

No, he can’t have heard that right. He crinkles his nose because _ew_. “Hair?”

“Yes, my own. When I cut my hair, I save it. Then when I plant the seeds, I spread my hair around the perimeter of the garden. The scent of keeps the animals away.” Cas steps over and starts furrowing the next line. “For the ones that know the scent of a Hamiaah, I grow a particularly pungent plants that drives them away.”

“That sounds fun.”

“I don’t even notice it anymore.” Cas shrugs and finishes off his current line. He looks up and holds out the stick. “Would you like to do one?”

Dean glances down at the mud and wrinkles his nose. “Yeah, I don’t think so. I don’t want to be cleaning caked on mud off my boots when I get back to camp tonight. I don’t know how you can stand walking in that stuff.”

“You don’t like mud?”

“I don’t mind it. I just don’t want my stuff covered in it.” He shrugs and crouches, arms folded over his thighs. “It’s a pain in the ass and just more work for me later. Cleaning off my boots isn’t as simple as finding the nearest source of water and sticking my feet in it.”

Cas steps over and starts on another line. “Then the logical solution would be to remove your boots and go barefoot.”

And now Dean feels like a dumbass for not even thinking about that – though he’s not looking forward to that squishing feeling between his toes. He sits back on his ass and unlaces his boots. By the time Cas is done the line he’s working on, Dean has his pants rolled up to his knees and his socks stuffed in his boots. Cas does that weird grin-without-actually-grinning thing that he does with his face – all in the eyes and next to nothing on the lips. If Dean had more time, he’d really devote his efforts to trying to get a _real_ smile out of him. A big one. All teeth and squinty eyes.

He grabs the offered stick, takes a deep breath, and squishes out into the mud. It feels just as gross as he thought it would and Dean reflexively lifts his knees higher with every step he takes. There’s a snorting sound behind him and when he glances over his shoulder, Cas has a hand over his mouth and he’s pointedly _not_ looking at him.

“Did you just _laugh_ at me?”

Cas shakes his head, but when Dean starts walking again there’s another snort that gets lost in a cough. Dean chooses to ignore it, but if he flicks the stick to spray some mud back at Cas, then that’s just a happy accident – no matter how much that makes Cas complain. Dean finishes off making the furrows while Cas sits with light glowing under his feathers and his hands flat against the ground on either side of his hips.

By the time he squishes out of the mud, there’s a ring of bushes with brightly coloured flowers growing on them that circles the garden patch and the flowers _stink_. The garden isn’t exactly small and Dean’s feet are kind of cold now – not to mention the sweat that he worked up. He’s going to have to shower when he gets back to camp and he’s gonna start hoping right now that his downstairs brain doesn’t decide to rear its ugly head and decide shower time would be a good time to remember what Cas smells like – Earth and that specific Cas-only smell – or those fucking _thighs_.

No, he should _really_ stop thinking about that right now. Shower or not, his downstairs brain is really fucking annoying about make itself known when he lets his thoughts stray too much. And right now they’re straying right down that line of faded black on Cas’s stomach and he barely stops himself from wondering just how far _down_ it goes. It goes to the edge of that stupid loincloth, he knows that – but there’s more _space_ under that and – _goddammit_.

“Dean?”

He blinks. Weird – Cas had been sitting two seconds ago and now he’s standing in front of him all furrowed eyebrows and gee, that kinda looks like worry. Fuck, how long was Dean not-quite-fantasizing? Dean shakes himself out and forces a grin that feels lopsided. “Sorry – mind wandered. I’m good.”

Cas doesn’t look any less worried. “We’re done here. Would you like lunch now?”

“Sounds good to me.” He scoops up his shoes and Cas gets the egg basket.

They head back to Cas’s place to wash their feet in water from a giant pot. The mud on Cas’s feet is dry so he’s the one who take the stuff to the cave and comes back with the pot of water. It’s cold as fuck and as soon as his feet are clean and dry, Dean gets them socked and shoed as fast as physically possible. Cas actually doesn’t seem to give a shit, going straight for the dye pot to stir up the coals again.

Lunch takes longer because Cas insists on cooking rice. Dean preps his bag for when he’s going to leave later. After that’s done, the only thing left to do is keep sorting the mat materials. He’s about to start making the bundles to be dyed next when Cas announces that the rice done. The meal doesn’t actually start until Cas fries up some omelets full of vegetables and Dean would _kill_ for some actual meat.

Cas folds the omelet around the rice and pours some kind of sauce over it. Dean has no idea what it is but it’s kinda sweet and a little spicy and it tastes _awesome_ – even without meat. It’s back to work on bundle making and materials sorting after lunch is all cleaned up. They don’t exactly reach for anything to talk about. The quiet is actually comfortable – with Cas humming while he sets up the frame for his next mat and Dean listening or humming his own music to himself.

At one point they end up talking about what Dean’s going to do when he leaves. It’s not the longest of conversations and it just leaves Cas more quiet after Dean stops talking. He’s going to hang out at Bobby’s til his dad finishes or gives up on his hunt. While he waits, he’s going to make some extra money at the pool halls or working at Bobby’s salvage yard. He’s going to give his baby an overhaul, and if he thinks he has the time and John won’t find out then he’d like to steal over to California to visit Sam – it’s been way too long since he saw his stupid face.

The only thing Dean very carefully doesn’t say he’s gonna do is _get laid_. He doesn’t exactly know why, but telling that to Cas just – it makes his stomach twist in the closest thing he’s felt to embarrassment over sex in pretty much forever. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like it and he doesn’t really want to flaunt in Cas’s face that he’s going to get some while Cas stays here, alone in the mountains, while definitely not getting any himself.

The later it gets, the more these small purple flowers, like bulbs with a flare of petals at one end, start growing wherever Cas is walking or sitting. Dean doesn’t comment on it – although he wants to – and neither does Cas. But if he thinks that Dean doesn’t notice how he’s gone back to the stoic-faced robot from a week ago, he’s sorely mistaken. No, he’s not stoic-faced. He’s – and Jesus, Dean shouldn’t be noticing it and it shouldn’t be making him feel _bad_ – but Cas actually looks _sad_.

He definitely doesn’t comment on that.

Supper is reheated stew that they add the leftover rice and more water to. Cas re-seasons it and the smell while Dean is cleaning up all the mat stuff is practically torturous. He kinda wants it in his belly yesterday. Supper includes the weird pizza bread and Dean has two bowls – at Cas’s insistence with some excuse that Dean isn’t going to eat anything remotely decent once he’s left.

After supper, that’s it. Dean doesn’t have any excuse to stay longer. If anything, he has to leave _now_ or risk walking back to the camp in the dark. Cas’s purple flowers get thicker around his feet and Dean frowns at them but shoulders his bag anyways. It’s awkward now, as Cas follows him to the entrance. Like, what the hell is he even supposed to say? _“Hey, thanks for letting me hang out. Sorry again for fucking your life up. Mind if I drop by again?”_

Whoa, _hello._ What? Come back? That’s – how is he even supposed to – but John – and Cas is an _Angel_ for Christ’s sake. But that’s why he’s leaving the phone, isn’t it? To keep in contact with him? Keeping in contact doesn’t mean _visiting_ – but – Jesus. He never expected this one little hunt to end up being so fucking _confusing_.

Dean brushes aside the vines and turns around to face him. This should not be feeling a little like when Sam left and Dean didn’t know if he’d ever see him again. He _knows_ he’s not going to see Cas again. At least, he’s not supposed to. But – there’s still that nervous twist in his chest and a sour taste in the back of his mouth. It’s like being someplace nice on vacation (or when he was a kid and he and Sam were in a good school with friends) and not wanting to leave when it’s time to.

“So, I’ll –” Dean swallows around that tightness in his throat. “You make sure to stay safe, okay? Don’t – No traps, right? Stay away from hunters. Remember, I’m the only one who gets to kill you.” Cas’s jaw goes tight and his eyes go squinty. It’s verging on smite-levels and Dean can only grin at it, but his smile doesn’t hold all the happy he’s trying to force into it. It’s softer than he means it to be. “Just, take care of yourself.”

Cas’s expression loses its edge and those bulb-flowers spread out around him again. He nods and murmurs a little “You too.” as he dips his head. He looks so – Dean doesn’t want to say _sad_ because he doesn’t see it in any part of Cas outside of his eyes, but it’s still there and it’s making Dean feel like shit for leaving. He doesn’t even know why Cas wouldn’t want him to leave. It’s not like he hasn’t been a pain in his ass for the majority of his time here.

“Um, so –” Dean takes a step out of the opening and Cas takes a step forward, holding the veins up in his place. “I’ll –” He can’t say that he’ll see him later. “Bye, Cas.”

His jaw goes tight again and _there’s_ the soldier. “Goodbye, Dean.” And then he’s gone, vines and moss falling back into place like Dean’s stomach is falling to his shoes.

He doesn’t move for a few seconds and then he buries it. Everything that feels weird about this, everything that _hurts_ , he takes it and shoves it deep down. Dean shovels every little thing he can on top of that and he spends his entire walk back to his camp focusing on forgetting about it. He’ll call Cas from the road just like he planned and depending on how Cas takes that, maybe he’ll get to call back.

Dean’s night is nothing more than a shower and a supremely disappointing wank session. It took too long to come and it was one of the most unsatisfying ones he’s ever had. Thinking about not thinking about things probably ruined it, but it doesn’t change that he goes to bed grumpy and wakes up worse. He slams pretty much every cupboard and drawer and door, throwing his bags around haphazardly until it’s midmorning and he’s standing with the driver’s side door open, one foot in the impala.

That’s when he stops and everything he piled on top of those _weird_ feelings starts to teeter. They’re trying to get out of the box he locked them in and Dean blames them for why he looks around the clearing right now, hoping that Cas might show up or something. Of course there’s no one standing in the shade of the trees and that _doesn’t_ make Dean disappointed.

He gets into the car and slams the door, popping a tape into the deck and cranking the volume as soon as the engine roars to life. Dean doesn’t bother checking the rearview even though it’s habit. The trailer is in the way and he’s not going to see shit out that way. He eases the gas down slow and his car rolls forward a few feet before picking up momentum.

Dean checks in the side mirrors to make sure the trailer is moving evenly behind him and that’s when he spots the tan and black in the trees. Cas is standing close to the side of one of them, his hands at his sides. Short little plants – like pale green Christmas trees no taller than Cas’s knee – grow around his feet and up the tree next to him. Scattered between them are purple flowers that hang from their stalks like little bells.

He should stop and get out and say goodbye properly again. But what would he say? What would he _do_? Is he expecting some kind of goodbye kiss? That’s ridiculous. Cas is just lonely. Aside from blushing whenever Dean made some kind of offhand lewd comment – which is totally explainable thanks to being a somewhat naïve virgin – Cas didn’t show any of the signs that Dean is used to seeing when someone is attracted to him.

So that means he’s going to stay in the car. But he _is_ going to roll the window down, stick his hand out the window, and wave. It takes a few moments – and another dozen or more feet down the wheel ruts of the road (he can’t exactly go very fast here) – before Cas lifts his hand too. It’s not an actual wave, but it’s an acknowledgement. Cas doesn’t move for as long as Dean is able to see him in the side mirror. The road bends away and then Cas is gone and that’s it.

He calls Bobby when he stops for gas at the first town he comes to. It’s a quick “I’m on my way, see you in twenty hours.” call and Dean thinks about calling Cas to see if he’s okay about the satellite phone, but he doesn’t. Cas was going to do his gardening today, so chances are he’s not even at home right now. Hell, Cas might not be there until late this afternoon – maybe even evening. Dean tucks his phone away and decides he’ll put it off until later.

Later ends up being well after midnight once he’s pulled into the salvage yard and is just about ready to drop dead. But there’s still one last thing that he has to do. Dean drags himself into the house, leaving all his bags in the car. Bobby is still up and at his desk. They barely even exchange two words before Dean is upstairs and face down on the spare bed. It takes more effort than it should to get his phone out of his pocket and he kicks off his boots while he fumbles with his memories for the number to the satellite phone. At some point he does remember it and he settles back into the pillows with the phone pressed to his ear.

It takes a dozen or so rings – he lost count after nine – before the line picks up and a confused, somewhat sleepy, and _definitely_ grumpy voice answers. “Dean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s flowers…
>
>> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Purple Heather: solitude  
> \- Wormword: bitter sorrow  
> \- Bellflowers: loss  
> 


	13. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even if that’s something that the slowly dying hope fluttering behind his ribs wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

The vehicle Dean leaves in is loud and disgusting. Castiel can smell the foul fuels from here. But his attention isn’t on that. It’s on Dean’s hand, lifted out the window and waving back and forth. This is it. He’s waving goodbye and if Castiel does it too, then it will be final. They’ll both have given their last farewells to each other.

What Castiel finds the most confusing in all of this is that he doesn’t want that. After being attacked by him, saved by and tended to by him, Dean has… grown on Castiel. His smile is infectious, his mood uplifting, he’s curious and honest and he carried so much regret for what he did. Castiel meditated for hours about what he should do with Dean – trust him or kill him in the sake of keeping the clan safe.

Dean is a hamibaghie. Castiel says the syllables under his breath, repeating them to remind himself of the mark Dean bears on his chest, the mark that shows the world what he is. “Hah-meh-bah-ji-hi-eh. Hah-meh-bah-ji-hi-eh. Hamibaghie. Hambaghie.” A creature of fury. A hunter of Hamiaah. Dean is a hamibaghie and this is something Castiel should never forget.

But now Dean knows more about Hamiaah than any hunter should ever know. Castiel knows he’s revealed more than he ever should have during the last five days that they’ve spent together. Even though most of that information is about himself, there is still so much that Dean could have learned about Hamiaah – physically and more in general just from being around him. Dean is smart and observant, who knows what he could have gleaned from just watching Castiel’s daily life.

He should stop him. Castiel should stop Dean from leaving and taking that information back to other hamibaghie. Whatever he tells them could make it easier to find and kill more of his kind. But his feet won’t move, his wings won’t spread –though one of them is still broken and bandaged – bandaged by _Dean_. He didn’t have to help Castiel. Dean could have taken his weapons and traps and left him here to heal on his own. But he didn’t and he had admitted that staying and helping was his penance – until it wasn’t. It was his penance until he started to enjoy Castiel’s company, until he started to enjoy the time that he was spending here.

“You are cruel, Dean Winchester.” Castiel murmurs to the bellflowers and wormwood that sprout and bloom around his ankles and up the tree next to him. “You were nice, and you are cruel.”

He doesn’t want Dean to leave, but it’s necessary. It’s the entire reason why he raises his hand, not bothering to actually wave. As long as Dean can see it, he’ll have his closure and he won’t think of coming back. Not that he _is_ thinking of doing that to start with. But Dean had been hesitant to part from Castiel’s salman yesterday evening and he can’t take the chance that Dean will want to return.

Even if that’s something that the slowly dying hope fluttering behind his ribs wants.

Castiel doesn’t deserve to be selfish. He doesn’t deserve a friend and he doesn’t deserve to be happy. He doesn’t deserve to have anyone – let alone Dean, a _hunter_ – treat him with kindness. But Dean did anyways, right until the very end. He’s being kind even now, after spending five days with him – despite having learned on the first day that Castiel doesn’t have the best of dispositions.

He wasn’t always like that. Castiel used to be easier to be around. He had many friends, and the soldiers he commanded looked up to him and treated him with respect. After his disgrace he lost it all and he deserved that. He deserved Dean’s attack and he deserved to die. Being saved, being cared for like he was in the last week – he isn’t worthy of any of that. But Dean gave it to him anyways when he had no obligation beyond his morals.

It’s been fifty years since someone was kind to him. It’s been fifty years since Castiel spent any significant amount of time with anyone. He had forgotten what it was like to be treated as an equal instead of an outcast.

Every time he goes to the summer gathering, he makes camp outside the clan boundaries. Only Balthazar, one of his old subordinates and someone he once called his best friend, still speaks to him. Even if Balthazar wanted to spend any sort of time with him, to talk to him beyond what is necessary, the clan would frown upon it heavily and Castiel doesn’t want to drag him down too.

The only interaction they have is when Balthazar comes to pick up the mats to deliver them to those who ordered them. And he brings Castiel orders for new ones. Balthazar, and what few young ones that he can convince to visit ‘the outcast’, also brings him the supplies that he trades his other mats for.

Without Silvanus, Castiel would never be able to carry back all the ingredients that he trades for. The majority of which is heavy flour. It would be too much work for him to grow his own wheat and grind it. Not on top of everything else that he has to take care of here. It’s only before he leaves the gathering – no more than a few days after he arrives – that Castiel splurges and trades for meat, both dried and fresh. It’s a treat for him to have fresh meat, one that he gives into only once a year save for the few times when he finds dying or dead animals.

Without Silvanus, Castiel would be completely alone. But Silvanus isn’t always here. He travels the entire mountain range before he returns here, stays for a week, and leaves again. It can take a month or more for Silvanus to make his rounds and Castiel spends all the time on his own. He’s always alone. It’s been the one constant in his life for the last fifty years and Dean _changed_ that.

Dean made him remember what it’s like to not be alone. Dean made Castiel _like_ him, made him enjoy his company when everything said that he should hate him. He attacked Castiel and wounded him badly. Taking responsibility and caring for him shouldn’t be enough to make Castiel trust him – but he does. He trusts Dean to keep his existence here a secret, he trusts Dean not to use the information he’s learned about Hamiaah to help hamibaghie kill more of them.

_He trusts Dean._

With everything that happened it shouldn’t be possible. He shouldn’t have let Dean touch his wings, or shown him his salman. He shouldn’t have done anything that he did. But that doesn’t change that he did it. And it’s done now. Dean and his silver home are rounding the bend and now he’s gone completely. There is no more Dean in his life and there are things that Castiel needs to do today.

He doesn’t move. Castiel lowers his hand slowly, lifting the other to touch the soft purple petals of the bellflowers on the tree next to him. Dean is gone. Dean took his smiles and his conversations and his very presence, and he left Castiel alone again. For the first time since he moved here, his salman had been full of laughter. And Dean just took it all away.

Castiel waits until he can’t feel the rumble of Dean’s vehicle under his feet or hear it make the forest tremble. Then and only then does he turn away and take an unmarked path to his home. He crosses over and ignores the trail that he’d taken with Dean when he first showed him where his salman is. Castiel touches every tree he passes, his fingers dragging lightly over the bark and his power surging for that split second to check the health of the tree from leaves to roots and everything that it touches.

He makes a vague note in a corner of his mind to clean and refill the sand pit soon as he passes it. Castiel brushes aside the vines and looks around the room he’s called his home for fifty years. Not once has it ever seemed so empty and, for a brief moment, Castiel hates it. He hates the othil where Dean slept, where Castiel calmed him while he was sleeping simply by laying a wing over him.

And that is something he’s never done before – for a Hamiaah or a Human. His wings aren’t exactly sensitive, but they’ve never been touched before the way that Dean touched them. They’ve never been touched that way when Dean cleaned them, when he dried and bandaged them, even when he helped to spread Castiel’s oil over the feathers. When Dean pushed his fingers into them and held the feathers tightly, it had made Castiel shudder to his bones. But it wasn’t a bad shudder, it was… _different_. New. Terrifying. Hamiaah aren’t supposed to allow just anyone to touch their wings – they’re more special, more personal, than an arm or a leg.

Wings determine how you are viewed – you’re judged on their size, their colour, and how well maintained the feathers are. Wings can be a weapon in battle, a shield from the cold, a comfort in sorrow. And the only time you’re supposed to allow someone to touch them like Castiel let Dean touch them is – is _not_ what Dean is. Dean is – _was_ – barely a friend. He shouldn’t have let Dean clean them, or ask him to help with oiling them, and he shouldn’t have even considered wrapping a wing around Dean’s shoulders, curving it around him to protect him from the storms.

 _Protect_.

Castiel had wanted to protect him. Dean had tried to _kill_ him before they were even properly introduced and Castiel still wanted to protect him from the fears that plague him. And that alone is – is – he doesn’t even know what to think about that.

How long will it be before Castiel stops thinking about him? He’ll never see Dean again. Dean has other Hamiaah to hunt, he has his family and friends and why would he ever consider coming back here? He owes Castiel nothing and Castiel owes him nothing. He shouldn’t think about that – about anything to do with Dean – anymore.

It’s better for them both that Dean stays away. He didn’t speak of his father much, but Castiel can tell that he’s far more vicious and dedicated to his vengeance than Dean. If Dean could ever find the time to sneak away, he would have to explain to his father why and where he was going and – and –

Castiel curses and shoves his hands through his hair. His thoughts are going around in circles and they need to stop. He hasn’t eaten anything yet and he should do that, then he should go take care of the garden and just _do_ something to get his mind off Dean and all the things that he made him start think about things he hasn’t thought about since – since - It’s been nearly a century that Castiel thinks he last thought about sex or even about his own sexuality.

Gender holds no meaning to him. He’s found members of both sexes pleasing to look at and Dean is – was – _very_ pleasing to look at. Those blue pants he was fond of wearing were loose in the legs and tight in all the best places. He wore too many shirts unless he was sleeping or working outside for several hours and Castiel doesn’t understand how Dean baring more skin could affect him when he’s so used to Hamiaah wearing nothing but wraps.

This is Dean’s fault. He brought up that stupid topic. The topic that Castiel has tried to avoid thinking about at all times of the year, especially during the early winter months when the breeding season starts. Those are always the most difficult time for him, but right now feels even worse. Right now he can remember having to partially undress Dean the first night that he fell asleep on the othil and he can remember Dean calling him attractive, saying his wings were the nicest he’s ever seen – that he likes _Castiel’s_ wings the best.

No one has ever said that to him before. Castiel’s wings have been a source of pride and shame for him. They’re large and well maintained and he’s proven himself to be a very capable warrior. But their _colour_ – Melanistic wings have been considered a bad omen since time immemorial. It’s why his parents chose to be sentries so far from the clan and it’s why Castiel has always put being a good warrior before anything else in his life, even before himself. There was too much for him to prove for him to stop and think about taking care of his own needs.

But Dean didn’t care that they were black – not that he knew the meaning of melanistic wings, but the principle still stands. He _likes_ Castiel’s wings. And if Castiel can take anything from Dean’s reluctance to leave last night, than Dean likes _him_ too. Maybe he doesn’t like Castiel in any particularly sexual manner – not that that is something that Castiel even wants – but it’s the first time that someone has expressed any sort of kindness, any sort of fondness for him, in fifty years.

And he doesn’t deserve it.

Castiel curses again and forces his mind blank. He thinks of nothing as he goes into the cave and spreads glowing lichen with a touch to the stones. He thinks of nothing more than where he put the bag that holds his jars of seeds. He finds it tucked away on a shelf and he should grab something, anything, to eat.  But he doesn’t. The only other item that he takes with him when he leaves is the pronged stick he’ll use to till the soil.

He stops at the entrance, curving his good wing forward to brush aside the vines. Castiel leans his shoulder to the edge of the entrance, the bag of seeds sliding through his fingers until only the strap is still in his hand, the jars clinking as the body of the bag hits the floor. He doesn’t need to look to know that there are mushrooms growing along the wood beside him, he can see the red caps spreading out of the corner of his eye. They look like blood.

The day feels like it’s weighing on him and it’s barely halfway through the morning. He barely slept last night and he hasn’t eaten in hours. He doesn’t want to stay here in his empty salman, but he doesn’t want to go out into the forest. It feels empty too and it’s never felt like that before. There are the trees, the flowers, the animals – the forest is anything _but_ empty and right now it feels so quiet, so _lonely_.

And, briefly, Castiel hates it. He hates the forest, he hates Dean, and he hates himself for the decisions he made that led to him being here. Living alone hurts less than living with outright hostility directed at him daily. But it’s still _alone_. And he hates it.

Castiel takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. It takes more effort than it should to lift the bag and sling it over his shoulder. It takes another deep breath and forcing his mind clear again before he can step out into the sunshine and shade of the forest.

There are birds singing and various animals rustling in the underbrush, the hum of insects and the bees are returning to the hive in the upper branches of Castiel’s salman. The forest is bright and alive and Castiel still feels alone. He closes himself to the thoughts that continue to try and make their way to the forefront of his mind. It’s the first time he’s attempted mediation while moving, but it helps. As he plants the seeds and spreads the hair he keeps in another bag with the seeds around the edge of the garden, he focuses his powers on his wing. The faster he heals his wing, the sooner he’ll be able to fly.

He’s never been so long without flying and it’s like an itch in his wings and under his skin. Castiel never flies very high above the trees, but he never feels better than when he goes to the waterfall and falls from its edge, spreading his wings and catching the air to pull from the freefall before hitting the water. Skimming the rushing waves of the river and beating his wings until he’s climbing the air to the treetops and he find the tallest tree in the area to rest in her branches.

The tallest tree is _his_ tree, his spirit tree. It’s the one that his parents planted when he was born and the one that he spent much of his formative years practicing his powers on, urging her to grow. Juniper, as he calls her, is a large part of why he chose to live _here_ of all places – so close to where his parents died and where the sentry outpost once stood. The sentries have long since moved and now Castiel is the only Hamiaah living this far south.

It’s been awhile since he visited Juniper. Walking would take half a day or more to get to her, but seeing Juniper might make him feel better. Even if he can’t fly to her upper branches, if he brings rope he might be able to climb her. Talking to Juniper has always made him feel better and she makes him feel less alone. That’s what he needs right now. He can tell her about Dean and all the things he made him think and feel and maybe getting all of that off his chest might allow him to return to how he was a week ago.

A week ago he was cold and empty. Castiel doesn’t want to return to that, and he likes how Dean made him feel happy. Dean had made him _smile_ and that hasn’t happened for longer than Castiel can remember. But he doesn’t deserve to be happy. There are one hundred and thirty one reasons why he doesn’t deserve it. One hundred thirty one reasons why he _does_ deserve the loneliness.

Castiel works on the garden until it’s well into the afternoon. Even though he feels hungry he doesn’t want to eat. He forces himself to drink some peppermint tea. It suppresses the appetite and he doesn’t feel as hungry afterward. As tired as he is, Castiel needs to keep himself busy. If he can keep his hands and his mind busy, he can forget about being alone and he can get back to his normal routines, his normal everything.

He picks at random one of the few remaining rolls of birch bark from the shelf he keeps his orders on. The design is sketched neatly on the creamy inside of the bark and Castiel plans around how to make it while he lays out a large mat stained with dye.  From the back of the cave he gets two blocks of wood with holes dug into the center. He fits poles with notches carved into them into the holes and lays poles into the notches.

Castiel uses big sticks, like the ones he’d used to serve the noodles when he ate lunch with Dean in the clearing, to lift the materials out of the pot of dye. They drip dry a little before he carefully hangs them on the rack set up over the stained mat, using the sticks to straighten and separate them.

Once he’s scooped out all the materials from the pot, Castiel lets them dry on their own while he mixes more dye for the next batch. After that’s started, he starts weaving. He loses hours to it and the repetitive motions of his hands and the flow of the materials. The entire time, he focuses his powers on his wing. The more of his power that he uses, the more tired he gets and he hopes, at some point, he’ll be tired enough to sleep. And the sooner his wing is healed, the sooner he’ll be able to sleep in his nest.

Aside from the crackling of the fire, the salman is too quiet. Castiel combats it with humming, but the only song that comes to his lips is the song he learned from Dean’s song box. It makes his chest hurt, but he likes the lyrics and he can still hear the instruments if he focuses enough.

“ _Now as I close my eyes know I’ll be thinking about you._ ” He sings under his breath, fingers hesitating with the weaving. He stops singing and humming but he still recites the rest of the verse in his head. _While my mistress she calls me to stand in her spotlight again, tonight I won’t be alone. But you know that don’t mean that I’m not lonely. I’ve got nothing to prove, for it’s you that I’d die to defend._

Castiel stands abruptly, wing twitching out angrily. His primary feathers catch on the untied bundle he had next to him, scattering the materials. He curses and picks those up, movements sharper than they should be. The lyrics strike a chord in him and the worst of it all is that he thinks of _Dean_ when he hums them – and it’s not just because he wouldn’t have learned the song if it wasn’t for him. That’s the worst part of it. There’s no reason the lyrics should make him think of Dean for anything beyond that. But they do and it – it _hurts_.

The room is dark now, the only light coming from the fires. He hadn’t noticed when the sun set and he’s lost track of time completely. He doesn’t know how late in the night it is, but the fires have died significantly and Castiel busies himself to build them up again.

Surprisingly, he’s already completed at least a quarter of the mat and he’s going to have to start the pattern soon unless he wants to make this longer than it’s supposed to be. The materials are dry, but he’s going to need more than just that. Castiel checks the dyed strips, making sure that they’ve dried enough for him to use. He collects them and stirs the ones in the pot, using the sticks to separate them.

While water boils in a kettle, Castiel goes to use the sand patch. It’s a cloudy night and he can’t see the moon or the stars to determine what time it is. It frustrates him. He feels overly tired and Castiel should sleep but he doesn’t want to yet. Once he stops doing anything, everything is going to quiet and he’ll have nothing to do but think about everything he doesn’t want to think about.

He drinks the entire pot of peppermint tea while he continues working on the mat, threading in the coloured strips where he needs them. Castiel forces himself to focus on remembering all the songs he learned while growing up. He sings them all and he’s so focused on all of those that he doesn’t even hear the first few sounds.

When he does stop, he realizes the trilling noise is coming from the _cave_. It takes him a moment to remember it’s the sound of the yellow brick Dean had used to talk to Bobby on the beach. What did he call it again? A – a phone? Yes. That’ sounds right. It sounds like Dean’s phone. It should have left with Dean. Why is it’s sound coming from the cave?

It’s on the eighth ring by the time Castiel finds it, stuffed at the back of one of the cubby holes behind his last few bags of flour. He runs back to the fire for enough light to be able to read the note folded around the phone. It’s a crudely drawn depiction of the buttons on the phone with arrows and words and at the bottom of the paper, in big letters is _ANSWER IT DUMBASS._

Castiel composes himself before pressing the big green button and holding the phone to his ear like he saw Dean do. He ignores how his heart is beating harder and faster than it has in days and that his stomach is flipping with the closest thing to happiness he’s felt today. Castiel can hear breathing, but there’s more than just that sound coming through. There’s crackling and echoing and more than he thought he would ever hear using something like this.

“Dean?” His voice sounds tired, and confused and that’s not surprising in the least. He hasn’t slept and he can’t fathom why Dean would have left the phone in his cave, with a note, in a place that proves Dean left it on purpose.

“Hey Cas.” Dean sounds exhausted, but he also sounds _pleased_. “Hope I didn’t wake you.”

It’s weird, to talk to someone he can’t see on something he’s never used before. As a Hamiaah he should refuse on principle to use something like this. But Dean left it specifically for him. Dean left them a means of communication and it’s like a weight from Castiel’s shoulders. His salman, his forest, _everything_ feels so much less lonely in this moment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s flowers…
>
>> \- Bellflower: loss  
> \- Wormwood: bitter sorrow  
> \- Fungus (mushrooms): loneliness, solitude  
> 


	14. Phonecalls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He realizes his mistake and winces, his smile falling away again. Dean won’t be coming back here. Castiel shouldn’t have spoken as if he’s ever going to cook for him again. It only reminds him that he’ll only ever cook for himself and there won’t be anyone to tell him that they haven’t tasted anything that good in awhile, or be fascinated by the way he makes noodles – he never did get to show Dean how he did that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Castiel sinks onto the othil, its low back resting just under his wings and not pressing uncomfortably against the joints. The room feels warmer than it did a few minutes ago. Just having Dean’s voice in his ear shouldn’t be enough to do that, but it does and Castiel can dwell on that later.

“You didn’t wake me.” He answers, listening closely to see if he can hear his voice and words echo through the phone like all the other sounds do.

“Dude, it’s after midnight.” Dean's words come out oddly and it takes Castiel a moment to realize that he’s yawning. “How come you weren’t sleeping?”

He looks over at the unfinished mat. “I was working.”

“On one of those mats, right?” Dean yawns again and Castiel smothers one of his own, the gesture contagious even over the phone. “Did you get the garden done?”

“Yes.” He looks down at his lap, smoothing out the fur of his wrap and making a note to take it to the river and wash it soon. He has others, but this outfit he made himself and it holds more meaning for him than anything he’s traded for at the gatherings. “Did you have a safe journey?”

Dean snorts and the muffled laugh brings an unbidden smile to Castiel’s lips. “Yeah, it was more or less a straight shot to Bobby’s. Stopped at a McDonalds along the way and got some real food and that was pretty good.”

“I don’t know what a ‘McDonalds’ is, but I can assure you that it isn’t real food.” Castiel’s smile grows and he tilts his head back, looking up at his nest. Another a few days, a week at most, and he’ll be able to get back up there again. “The only real food you’re ever likely to eat will be here.”

He realizes his mistake and winces, his smile falling away again. Dean won’t be coming back here. Castiel shouldn’t have spoken as if he’s ever going to cook for him again. It only reminds him that he’ll only ever cook for himself and there won’t be anyone to tell him that they haven’t tasted anything that good in awhile, or be fascinated by the way he makes noodles – he never did get to show Dean how he did that.

There’s silence on the phone and Castiel wonders if Dean is gone now. Or maybe he is? Is the phone no longer working? Castiel doesn’t know. He’s never used one before and he isn’t aware of the complexities to its functionality. That’s something he should ask Dean. He should ask that now and get rid of this uncomfortable silence – if Dean happens to still be there.

“How does this phone work?”

There’s a quiet sigh, and Castiel isn’t sure if it’s one of relief or otherwise. “I wrote it down just in case you forget, but I’ll give you a run down anyways. The big green button answers the call when it rings, the red one is to hang up when you’re done. If you ever want to or need to call me, press the green button and then hold down the number one until it starts ringing. If I’m busy, I might not answer. If that happens, my answering machine will pick up. It’s like a – shit, um – it’s recording device. It’ll ask you to leave a message after the beep. And you can just say that it’s you or whatever and when I check the message I’ll know to call you back. I mean I have call display on my cell so I’ll know that it’s you anyways, but still –”

“Dean.” He cuts him off, having only paid attention to what he needed to know.

“Sorry.” Dean murmurs, another yawn breaking around his words. “I get rant-y when I’m sleepy. Point of the matter, I wrote it all down for you and you’re going to want to keep the batteries charged. There’s a display on the front, like a rectangle, with bars in it. Do you see it?”

Castiel pulls the phone away from his head to look at the part of the phone that is lit up. There are numbers on the screen, but up in one corner is the little rectangle Dean mentioned. “Yes, I see it. There is only one bar in it.”

“That means you have a little battery life left. When that rectangle starts flashing, it means the phone is going to die.”

His wing flares and panic spreads from his throat and into his chest. If the phone dies then he won’t have any way of contacting Dean and he’ll be completely alone again. He doesn’t want that. It’s the very last thing that he wants now after how heavy today felt when he spent a week knowing what it was like to _not_ be lonely. But being alone is what he deserves and he should get rid of the phone. He should bury it or find somewhere to throw it away and he should tell Dean that he doesn’t deserve this odd friendship he’s offering to him.

“Cas? The phone isn’t actually going to die. It just means that it’s not going to have any power and you’re going to have to charge it.” Dean sounds like he’s smiling and Castiel briefly wishes that he could see it.

Dean has a nice smile – the dimples and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It’s the first time that Castiel can remember liking someone’s smile and it was the first time in a _very_ long time that someone even smiled at him. Castiel never realized how much he missed that.

He should probably be paying attention to the words Dean is saying though, instead of letting his mind wander. “There’s a black panel on the back of the phone. Just leave it in the sun with that panel face up and the battery will charge again, even if the phone shuts off completely.”

That seems simple enough. Castiel can feel the panel that Dean just mentioned under his fingers. And there’s plenty of sunlight here – may not at this exact moment, but there definitely will be in the morning. After nodding his understanding, it takes a moment to realize that Dean can’t see him. He clears his throat. “I understand.”

“Good.” Dean murmurs, yawning again. There’s a moment of silence before he clears his throat too. “You don’t – uh, it’s not a problem that I left that there, is it? I mean, I thought it would be a good idea to be able to get in contact with you in an emergency – like if I get wind of a hunter headed out you way or something, you know?”

A valid reason like that shouldn’t disappoint him, but it still twists like a sharp pain behind his ribs. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate your concern.” This means that Dean probably didn’t leave it for any more of personal reason than that he is still acting off the moral obligation to repay Castiel for the unwarranted attack.

“Yeah, well, I –” Dean’s words get lost in a loud banging noise and the muffled sound of another voice. “Shit, Cas, I gotta go. Bobby’s yelling for me – sounds like he wants to fill me in on dad’s position before I go to bed. I’ll call you again – um, I dunno, tomorrow afternoon? After I get myself sorted out here -” His voice gets a little distant and Castiel doesn’t think Dean is talking to him anymore. “Gimme a frikken minute, would ya? I’ll be right there!”

“Dean?” He ventures cautiously. Is the call over now?

“Sorry, I’m here. But I’ve really gotta go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow and make sure you get some sleep, okay? G’night, Cas.”

Castiel hesitates, his fingers curling over the edge of the othil for a moment. Dean is promising to call back tomorrow – not whenever another hunter is after him, which might be never, but _tomorrow._ This isn’t going to be the last time they speak. The disappointment melts away as purple delphiniums bloom along the edges of the othil and he stretches out his wing to brush his primaries over the petals.

“Good night, Dean.” He murmurs quietly, smiling at the flowers.

“Y’know, I kinda wish you’d smiled as much when I was there as you have on the phone. It would’ve been nice to see.” The words are spoken so softly, Castiel barely hears them before there’s a click and a heavy silence different from when Dean simply wasn’t talking.

It takes a moment before Castiel lowers the phone and presses the red button, turning the light off on the square. Even though it’s dark, he can still see darker lines on it if he looks closer. The numbers are different now, only four instead of the many from before. He places the phone on the stump to the right of the othil and lays down on his side slowly, staring at the fire and embers across the room.

Tomorrow. Dean wants to speak to him again tomorrow. And if he’s lucky, Dean will want to talk to him again soon after that. Maybe not every day, but it would be nice to talk to someone more than once a year. Of course it’s always nice to talk to Silvanus, but it’s just not the same as getting to talk to another person. And Dean is so very _different_. He’s unlike anyone Castiel has ever met, with so many different experiences and stories and knowledge. Castiel wants to learn it all.

He falls asleep wondering how long he would have to talk to Dean before there’s nothing more to talk about and wakes to a frustrated roar and the familiar thudding sound of Silvanus pawing at the ground. Castiel pushes up until he’s kneeling, stretching his arms above his head and his one wing out until his longest primary is very nearly touching the opposite wall.

“Calm down, calm down. I’m awake.” He muffles a yawn behind his hand and gets to his feet.

Silvanus’s is glaring at him from the entrance, standing too high at the shoulders to be able to fit under the shelf the vines and moss hang from. He roars again, shuffling his feet and grumbling.

“Yes, yes, I’m awake.” Castiel takes the phone to the window, placing it in the sun face down so it can charge. “I was up late working on that.” He gestures over his shoulder at the mat while he stirs the dye pot. Another day of soaking and they should be ready to switch out for the next batch.

 ** _Is it gone?_** Silvanus grumbles again and Castiel can _hear_ him sniffing the room.

“I’ll answer your question if you can be civil.”

**_Why? It was rude and disgusting. And I hate it._ **

Castiel’s wing snaps out angrily. “Don’t be insulting. Dean wasn’t so bad. He’s very… Well, all things given, he’s very considerate.”

Silvanus turns his face away, dropping heavily to lay on his stomach with his chin resting on his crossed paws. **_It’s gone and that’s all that matters. It’s going to take forever for this part of the forest to stop smelling weird. How is it not driving you crazy?_**

“I happened to like the way he smelled.” Castiel pointedly doesn’t look at the sharp glare Silvanus sends him, his wooden face creaking with open surprise. “It doesn’t matter, you won’t see him again.”

**_Good. I hated it._ **

“Dean was right. You do sound jealous.”

Silvanus snorts loudly and shakes his head, scattering red leaves around the entrance. **_I am_ not _jealous. Humans ruin everything they touch. It’s good that it’s gone. You won’t be ruined. Things can go back to normal now._**

Castiel glances at the phone but refrains from mentioning it. Silvanus saw it and he probably doesn’t know what it is, but it’s clearly not something that Castiel would own. He knows that Dean’s presence bothered Silvanus enough that they had the closest thing to a fight they’d ever had before Castiel had _commanded_ him to leave. It’s his powers that keep Silvanus alive and he can exert some measure of force over him. It’s what keeps them bonded and, naturally, Silvanus hadn’t been pleased that he’d been sent away. He’s not showing it now, but Castiel can tell that he’s still feeling slighted about before.

Which is why he doesn’t mention that he can still talk with Dean.

After breakfast, they walk to the lake together. To Castiel’s surprise, it’s already midmorning. By the time he returns, after washing a few blankets, his clothing, and taking a quick bath that leaves him itching for a good swim and the chance to really soak his wings, it’s pushing midday and Silvanus spends the entire time that Castiel prepares and eats lunch begging him to go on another walk.

But Dean said that he would call in the afternoon and Castiel double checks the phone to ensure that there are full bars in the rectangle. He doesn’t want to leave the phone here and risk the chance that he’ll miss Dean’s call. Silvanus’s walks tend to involve Castiel sitting on his back and travelling to a section of the forest it would take him a day to get to on foot and half a day by wing. He might not get back to his salman until tonight.

**_What are you doing, Qaal?_ **

Qaal. Kwah-ah-el. Creator. Castiel would correct him, but after nearly fifty years of telling Silvanus not to call him that, he hasn’t stopped yet. It’s a title that doesn’t suit Castiel. He didn’t create Silvanus, he merely gave life to the shell of a legend.

“I’ll just be a minute. And then we can go for a walk.” He ducks away into the cave before Silvanus can question him further, searching through the many holes and shelves for a cloth bag that will be big enough to hold the phone. The only one that he finds is full of nuts and he dumps those into a bowl, shaking it out before tying it to his hip with the phone inside.

 ** _That smells of it. Why do you have it, Qaal?_** Silvanus noses at his side when he gets close, the scaled bark rough against his skin. **_Tell me_**.

“It’s a gift from Dean. Leave it be and let’s go for our walk.”

 ** _What is it? Why did it leave you a gift?_** He doesn’t stop questioning Castiel about it the entire ride to the western edge of the mountains. Castiel refuses to give a proper answer, knowing that Silvanus will only complain about it again. He will, eventually – however long that takes – drop the topic, he just has to wait him out.

They’ve been walking for well over an hour when the phone rings again, a high pitched trill that has Silvanus jumping around to face him and growl at his hip. Castiel waves him off, turning away to fumble at the knot holding the bag shut. He curves his wing forward and around his side protectively to keep Silvanus from trying to bite at the bag.

He sits where he stands, keeping his wing curved up and forward to protect his head too while he turns the phone over in his hand to press the right button. Silvanus is growling all kinds of oaths – ones that Castiel certainly never taught him – as he paces around him.

“Dean?”

“Hey, Cas. How’s it going?” Castiel can actually _hear_ the smile and it unleashes a feeling like a swarm of bees to buzz around under his ribs.

“All things considered, I’m well. I cannot say the same for Silvanus.” There’s a loud roar on the other side of his wing and Castiel lowers it enough to glare over the edge at him. “He’s not very pleased that you left me the phone.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Dean’s laughter can be heard in his voice and it only sounds a little different over the phone. Something _pleased_ twists in Castiel’s chest at knowing that even though he can’t see Dean’s smile, he can at least still hear his laugh. He liked Dean’s laugh – it’s the first he’s heard in a long time and it’s nice to listen to. “Uh, I don’t call people a lot – except Bobby and Sam. So I’m not really good at this conversation thing. I don’t really know what we’re supposed to talk about.”

Castiel watches Silvanus drop heavily unto his stomach, wooden body creaking as he growls and glares back at him. “You’re better off than I am. I haven’t had a decent conversation with someone in longer than you’ve been alive.”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me you’re an old fart.”

He frowns down at his lap. “I am neither old nor a fart. To my people I’m still considered quite young. Compared to me, you are an infant.”

“Point.” Dean laughs again and Castiel can’t help the smile it brings to his face. He doesn’t want to think about how easily Dean makes him do that, or remember how hard it was not to smile when Dean was around before. “So, uh, shit. I dunno. What did you do today?”

“Ate, bathed in the lake and washed some blankets and my wrap.” He tilts his head back to look at the sky through the leaves, leaning back on one hand. “I ate again and now I’m out for a walk with Silvanus. He was insistent that I spend time with him to get rid of the taint your presence left on me.”

Dean makes a choked noise. “Hey!”

“Those were his words, not mine.” Castiel forces himself not to laugh. It feels weird actually having to _talk_. When Dean was here, sitting in silence together felt perfectly comfortable. But now, with a phone and so much distance between them, he feels almost obligated to talk. Is this what it’s like for everyone who uses a phone? “Your turn.”

“My turn for what?”

“To tell me about your day.”

“Oh, right.” There’s a clattering sound and Dean swears while another voice shouts from far away. “Shit – It was just a few cans Bobby, calm down before you jump out of your overalls, Christ. – Sorry, I’m in the shop with Bobby. He’s under his car right now and I’m on a break so it kinda seemed like the right time to give you a call.”

Castiel thinks back to the big black vehicle that Dean left in. He knows enough about Humans and their ways of life to know that was a car. But it was so low to the ground that he doesn’t see how anyone could fit under it. Perhaps they lift it somehow?

“Yeah, so after Bobby talked to me last night, I slept all morning and I’ve been spending the afternoon helping him with his car and working on mine. Nothing really interesting, y’know? Boring stuff.” Dean sounds uncomfortable and Castiel can’t help but wonder if Dean doesn’t want to talk on the phone anymore today.

There’s several moments of silence before Dean sighs and there’s a solid thud over the line. A crackling noise fills the phone, rushing like the wind. It takes another few moments before Dean speaks again. “I mean it when I said I don’t really know what to talk about. With Bobby it’s usually about hunting. With Sam it’s about how he’s doing in school and how it’s going with his girlfriend.”

“It will be harder to find conversation topics that I would be able to contribute to.” Castiel murmurs, stretching his legs out and looking down at his feet. The ink markings are starting to fade. Another week, maybe two, and he’ll have to repaint them. “I understand. You don’t have to call me every day.”

“When _do_ you want me to call you? I mean, do you even want me to call? I kinda forced the phone on you without giving you much of a say in it. Same with this call.” Dean sounds uncomfortable again and his words are coming too fast. “I didn’t even consider that you might not want me to call unless it’s about a hunter coming your way or something. I just went ahead and did it and –”

“I appreciate the gesture, Dean.” Castiel keeps his voice soft and calm, to ease the tension he knows is likely filling Dean’s body. Knowing that Dean is worried that his gift and attentions are unwanted makes Castiel feel… _good_. It’s a feeling he doesn’t deserve and he should tell Dean that. He should tell him that he shouldn’t call Castiel again unless it’s an emergency. That’s what he _should_ do. It’s not what he _does_ do. “You can call me whenever you feel like it. Even if there’s nothing that I can really talk with you about, I wouldn’t mind hearing about what you’re doing.”

Dean doesn’t answer with words at first. There’s a soft sound of surprise and a huff like a laugh. “You sure? I’m a pretty boring dude, Cas. If I’m not here working at Bobby’s salvage yard, then I’m watching shitty TV on Sam’s couch or out hunting with my – Shit, no. I won’t be doing much of that for a while.”

Castiel sits forward, his wing flaring slightly before settling against his back. He crosses his legs and holds his ankles with his free hand, staring at a tree a little ways ahead of him but not really seeing it. That sounds interesting. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, right. I didn’t tell you, did I? About what Bobby told me last night?” Dean clears his throat and there’s another thudding noise, louder and closer and Dean’s voice sounds changes – like he’s in a smaller space. “My dad was supposed to check in on Monday.”

“I don’t quantify time the same way you do, Dean. We maybe have taken to counting time like you, but we don’t name the days that make up a week.”

“Crap, right. A few days ago, he was supposed to call Bobby a few days ago to let him know that he’s still alive.” Dean pauses and there’s the sound of something squeaking repeatedly for a few moments until the crackling-rushing noise starts again.

“Did he?”

“Yeah, but not until the next night and he’s not coming back.”

Castiel stretches out one leg and leans forward until he touches his forehead to his knee. “Why not?”

“He was really vague about it and wouldn’t give Bobby all the information, but apparently he got some kind of tip from a contact of his and he’s going to follow that for awhile. If it doesn’t pan out, he’ll come back here.” Dean’s voice takes another edge, something hard and unhappy.

“And what does he expect you to do?”

“Keep hunting. He didn’t ask a damn thing about me or my hunt, just said that if I show up again then Bobby should keep sending me out on hunts.”

Castiel frowns and changes legs, leaning his forehead to his other knee. “Did he really say ‘if’? Does your father not have faith in your abilities?”

“I don’t know. I’m just saying what Bobby said.” Dean sounds like he’s sulking now and Castiel imagines that his arms are crossed and his chin is to his chest. “And clearly my ‘abilities’ are shit. You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“That remains to be seen.” He smiles again at the irritated sounds Dean makes. “I’m still fairly certain I must be dead. I can’t fathom any other way that I would have spent a week being cared for by a hunter, let alone how I’m using Human technology to speak with said hunter on a possibly frequent schedule.”

Dean’s irritated noise turns into a loud laugh that takes a minute to slowly stop. “So you want to make a schedule, huh?”

Castiel sits up straight again, wing fluttering against his back and the other straining against the bandages with a painful twinge. He had meant it as an offhand comment, but it’s true that he does want to know how often Dean plans on calling him. Or if he’s allowed to call Dean – not that he’s planning on doing that himself. But after spending so many days actually having company, it’s hard to adjust to being alone again.

He can easily remember what it was like the first few months after he moved out here. It was so hard to be alone after spending decades amongst his people. Adjusting to being alone, to having no one to talk to – it _hurt_. Castiel doesn’t want to go through that again. He doesn’t want his time with Dean to have changed that. And even if the loneliness is what he deserves, it’s not what he wants. He’s spent fifty years atoning for his disgrace, why can’t he have this one thing? This one _friend_?

“Cas?” Dean’s worried voice breaks through his thoughts.

Castiel shakes his head to clear it, taking in the five yellow petals and blue-green leaves of the rue flowers growing around his hand. He pulls back from it, standing and dusting off his outfit quickly. Silvanus is on his feet and growling immediately and he ignores Castiel’s protest as he stomps repeatedly on the flowers.

“What’s going on? Cas, you okay?”

“I’m fine. Silvanus is just being – well, he’s being sweet. But in an unnecessary manner.” Castiel reaches out to touch the space of scaled bark between his eyes. “I was just thinking. I don’t –” He stops and looks at the sky again, the itch to fly crawling under his feathers. “I haven’t had anyone except Silvanus to talk to in a very long time. I’m out of practice, Dean. I don’t know what to talk about or say or how often we should talk. I don’t want to talk too much, in case you get tired of it. But I don’t want to talk too little, in case you –” He bites his lip, already having said too much.

Dean’s voice is soft again, quiet and cautious. “In case I forget about you?”

Castiel doesn’t answer and he leans against Silvanus’s shoulder when he steps closer, hiding his face against the vines of his neck.

“If that’s what you’re saying, I’ll tell you right now that’s not going to happen.” His voice gets steadier, more determined. “I know I’m not going to forget you, Cas. As much as I want to get the bastards who killed my mom, I might never be able to be a proper hunter like dad wants me to be because of you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Castiel tilts his face out of the vines enough so that he can be heard.

Dean scoffs loudly. “Yeah, of course you didn’t.”

Castiel is fairly certain that Dean is being sarcastic, but he can’t really tell and he’s also certain that he did nothing to change anything about how Dean lives his life. Dean is convinced that Hamiaah killed his mother and he’s not going to stop a life’s mission just because of a few days spent in the company of one. Especially one like Castiel.

He hadn’t even tried to convince Dean that although there are many Hamiaah who do hate Humans for what they’re doing to Caosgi, and that there are some who do act out against them, they’re rarely the ones who actually cause wanton damage with their powers. Regular Hamiaah have too much else to deal with to have the time to build up their powers to unleash ‘natural disasters’. And the soldiers are too busy trying to stop the people who _do_ use their powers unjustly.

Purposefully causing unnecessary death is exactly the opposite of how every Hamiaah Castiel has met – even the soldiers – live their lives. Castiel could easily tell Dean, but this is a secret more closely guarded than the locations of the clans. There are Humans who know where those are, but there are even fewer – only those directly involved – who know about the secret that shames their very species.

“Dude, would you stop going quiet on me. It’s freaking me out.”

Castiel lifts his head again, turning his cheek to Silvanus’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Can we skip back to before this conversation got awkward? Like back to figuring out if and when you want me to call or vice versa?” Dean asks the question carefully, the words coming through the phone as if they were fragile. “I mean, do you think you’ll ever want to call me?”

“I –” He doesn’t deserve this. _He doesn’t deserve this_. “I think so.”

“I don’t think I should be calling every day. Time, location, hunting, y’know. It’s not really –what’s the word – _viable_.”

“I understand.” It would get boring if they spoke every day. Castiel hardly does anything worth noting and he can be busy all over the forest. Not to mention he’ll be spending most of his time working on mats for the coming clan gathering.

Dean groans quietly and there’s a soft thump. “That’s not me saying that I don’t want to talk to you. I know I left the phone so I could warn you about hunters, but I – I – Goddammit, I dunno how to say what I want to say without sounding like a giant girl.” He grumbles again, muttering too quietly for Castiel to hear what he’s saying.

 ** _It’s gone from the forest now, Qaal. Make it leave you alone._** Silvanus nudges him with his shoulder, knocking Castiel back a few steps before he regains his balance. **_I want to go run. Let’s run._**

Castiel shushes him and turns away. “I understand the protocols for this kind of situation even less than you do, Dean. Whatever you decide, I’ll go along with it. And if it turns out to be too much or too little, we can change it.” He takes a deep breath and tries not to start pacing. This needs to be said and he hopes it won’t be hurting Dean’s feelings. “Please don’t be calling me out of a sense of pity because you think that I’m lonely.”

There’s an ominous silence that meets the end of his sentence and Castiel holds his breath. Now he’s hoping that he didn’t just ruin whatever tentative friendship this had the potential of being. It’s been so long since he’s had a real friend – not that Silvanus isn’t one – but he’s just not the _same_.

“I’ll be calling you because I want to talk to you, Cas. It sucks balls that you’re out there alone, but you’ve got that giant tree dick you call a guardian, and you said that the forest talks to you too. You’re not all that alone, and even if you were – _surprise_ , I actually _liked_ talking to you and I want to keep doing it.” Dean’s voice remains hard the whole time, but it’s not _angry_. It’s – is it resignation? Was Dean expecting him to say something like that?

Castiel leans against a tree, hugging his waist with his free hand and tracing the curved lines by his hip. “I didn’t intend to be insulting. My apologies.”

“S’fine. I know where you’re coming from - Fuck. Bobby’s coming. Looks like my break is over. I have to go again, but – uh – how about we start out with once a week? I’ll call you seven days from now.” There’s that squeaking noise in the background again and the rustling of Dean’s movements. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not allowed to call each other before that. Even if you don’t know what to talk about, you can call me any time, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Dean.”

“For what?” A metal creak underlies his words, followed with a loud thump.

“Everything.” Castiel murmurs and he truly means it. The tiny yellow flowers of the agrimony flutter up around his feet and Castiel can’t help but crouch to touch them. He doesn’t mind the flowers growing when Dean can’t see them and question their meanings.

Dean laughs again, a nervous little thing that dies over the phone quickly. “Uh, you’re welcome? I guess. Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

He waits until he hears the click and the profound silence again before he presses the red button and puts the phone away in his bag. Silvanus is outright glaring at him when he turns around. “Don’t look at me like that.”

**_Qaal, don’t get attached to Humans. They live short lives._ **

“I’m not getting attached.” Castiel touches the bag absently, checking to make sure it’s tied tightly. Even though that’s true, it’s also changeable. It takes the powers of an entire clan to do it, but it has been done before. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go for a run?”

Silvanus huffs and crouches to give him the room to climb onto his back. They say nothing in the long run that carries them back to the salman. Castiel spends the rest of the evening working on his mats while Silvanus lays slightly inside the entrance. If he crawled on his belly, he would be able to fit through it a little more and lay partially in the open space like he does during the winter months, but Castiel has to check the dye pot repeatedly, keep a watch on his slowly cooking food and his materials are already spread everywhere. Silvanus would be in the way and he knows it.

And that’s how every day goes. Silvanus refuses to leave, encouraging Castiel to go on daily walks with him and frowning whenever he brings the phone and its bag with them. Every morning Castiel makes sure that the phone has enough of the bars in the rectangle to last him the day and he never goes very far from it. Several times over the week, he picks up the phone and nearly presses the buttons to call Dean. He doesn’t have any particular _need_ to talk to him, it’s just something that he _wants_. Like how he wants to hear Dean’s voice, pick out the moments when he’s smiling and wonder if he’s right.

But what he wants isn’t what he deserves and Castiel never makes the call.

Castiel finishes the mat he’s working on and starts another, this time just a plain one for every day use. He continues to dye more materials while he works on that, stocking up for the next order he’ll fill. The entire time that he sits and works, Castiel concentrates on healing his wing. After a week, he can finally go without the bandage and the rope that holds it in place, but it aches too much to be able to fly with it and Castiel has to very carefully stretch it every so often, working the muscles and the joints.

On the morning of the day that Dean is supposed to call him again, Castiel takes his first proper bath since he was injured. He fully submerses himself in the lake, taking extra time to soak his wings and sit in the shallows while running his fingers through his feathers. His right wing aches the entire time and Castiel focuses his healing powers on it, hoping it will be fully healed soon. It’s been too long since he’s gone flying and he misses it.

When he finishes bathing, Castiel turns from the waters to find his clothing laid out across the sand in an entirely different place than where he left it. Silvanus is laying in the shallows too, further down than where Castiel was sitting. He’s conspicuously not looking at him and Castiel can feel it in the power that connects them that he’s up to something.

Castiel notices what it is when he’s tying his wrap in place around his waist. The phone bag is suspiciously empty. There’s a tight surge of panic in his chest that it’s missing, even though he knows exactly where it is. This isn’t the first time that Silvanus has tried to steal the phone. It _is_ the first time that he’s succeeded.

He doesn’t say anything about it until Silvanus has raised himself from the waters and padded up onto the beach. “Give it back.”

Silvanus shakes out his tail, spraying water into the tress, and tilts his head. A confused sound rumbles in his throat but he’s not speaking and Castiel narrows his eyes at the lack of words. He crosses his arms and gives Silvanus the most serious look he has, wings flaring out to not only dry in the sun but make himself look more threatening.

“Open your mouth.”

He shakes his head this time, red leaves shaking.

“Open your mouth now before I _make_ you do it.” He speaks lowly, softly, an illusion to how quickly his temper is running out. Dean never specified a time that he would call and Castiel doesn’t want to miss the phone ringing just because Silvanus _ate_ it. His powers flare with his wings – a dangerous promise.

It’s only a moment before Silvanus opens his mouth. The smaller vines that makes up his tongue are curled around the phone. Thankfully, it’s still dry. If Silvanus had gotten it wet, Castiel isn’t sure what he would have done. He would have been extremely angry with him and for an indeterminate time, certainly. But what would he do about Dean if the phone gets damaged? He’ll have to talk to him about that today.

“Give it back.” Castiel holds his hand out, reaching for it only to pull his hand back as Silvanus snaps his jaw shut, jagged wooden teeth nearly catching his fingers. “ _Silvanus_.” He hisses his name, hands on his hips as if he were berating a child – which is what he’s been acting like since he first showed up while Dean was here. “Give it back right now.”

In the fifteen minutes it takes to try and coax, sweet-talk, and threaten Silvanus to return the phone to him, it rings. Castiel only gets the phone back when yellow carnations burst across the beach once the phone stops ringing. They’re accompanied with a thick curtain of red pendant amaranth blooming down the trunks of the trees around the beach.

Silvanus makes a quiet keening sound that vibrates the vines of his neck. He lowers his head and carefully drops the phone into the sand. **_Don’t be sad, Qaal. If it doesn’t really want to talk to you, it won’t call again. You don’t need it._**

Castiel picks the phone up carefully and dusts it off. He doesn’t even look at Silvanus, too upset that he missed the call to even try talking to him. Missing the call isn’t the reason he’s mad. He’s knows how to call Dean and he could easily call him back. It’s that Silvanus is trying to keep him from this one person – someone who could, hopefully, be a _friend_ – that is upsetting. He knows how much Castiel misses being around people, and how much he misses talking to them. He knows that he can give Castiel only so much companionship and that it’s not enough.

Hamiaah are naturally social creatures. They live in clans and usually have big families with several children over their lifetimes. If his parents were still alive, Castiel would likely have at least a few siblings by now. All he has left are aunts and uncles and cousins who refuse to acknowledge his existence. He’s been as good as cast out from his colony and the loss has hardened him. It’s made him a different person, a person he doesn’t like being and Dean – Dean was nice. He was the first person to be nice to him in a very long time and Castiel wants that again. He _needs_ it again. Dean reminded him of the person he used to be – the person he could _still_ be.

Is it so bad that it’s a human who’s willing to give that to him?

The phone doesn’t ring again by the time Castiel reaches his salman. He can hear Silvanus following him quietly and he can feel his regret through their bond. It’s not enough of an apology to make Castiel forgive him for trying to take this one bit of happiness from him. Silvanus may be trying to protect him, but he’s being selfish.

Castiel spends an hour sitting in front of the mat without working on it before he picks up the phone. He has to act quickly, before his courage leaves him. His hands are steady, at odds with the nervous fluttering sensation filling his chest. First he presses the green button and then he holds down the number one until the longer line of numbers appears on the little square. When Castiel puts the phone to his ear, it makes a short ringing sound that stops before the first is even done.

Dean’s voice comes through loud, clear, and tense. “Cas?”

The strangest sense of relief fills Castiel – despite the upset he can hear in Dean’s tones. He settles on the othil, his wings spreading out along the back to stretch properly. For the first time in days, Castiel feels relaxed. It’s the first time he’s had this reaction to the sound of someone’s voice.

He tilts his head back and smiles lightly at the ceiling, eyes falling closed. “Hello, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s flowers…
>
>> \- Delphinium: joy, ardent attachment  
> \- Rue: regret, sorrow, repentance  
> \- Agrimony: thankfulness  
> \- Yellow Carnation: you have disappointed me  
> \- Pendant Amaranth (aka: love-lies-bleeding): hopelessness  
> 


	15. Time and Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neither one of them is expecting the reaction that Castiel has to the news. He’s paying attention to Dean’s words, but he’s not focused on controlling himself like he usually does, his hands moving with the weaving of a mat while the phone is pinned between his ear and his shoulder. The laugh isn’t like the ones he usually has, easily covered with a cough or just a muffled snicker in his throat. It’s a full laugh that comes from deep in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

“Were you – did I interrupt you or something?” Dean sounds nervous, as if he’s worried. It shouldn’t make Castiel smile more, but it does.

“I was just at the lake and bathing. I was going to oil my feathers afterward, but Silvanus tried to eat the phone and then you called.” He looks toward the cave, clearly picturing where the clay pot full of his gathered wing oil is standing.

Dean’s laugh is short and loud and Castiel closes his eyes to focus on it more. “He tried to _eat_ the – Why the hell did he try to do that?”

“He doesn’t like you.”

As if to confirm his statement, Silvanus roars from the entrance. Castiel glances over to find him laying partway inside again, his narrowed eyes glowing with the power that sustains him. They’re fixed on Castiel and more specifically, the phone.

Dean snorts and laughs again. “Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

There’s quite a lot of things that Dean doesn’t know, especially about him. He doesn’t know the cause for Castiel’s disgrace, or where the clan lives. He doesn’t know about Juniper or about Silvanus’s past. But those are all things Castiel doesn’t want to tell him, at least not yet. If they talk more, maybe one day he will even though they’re all things that he shouldn’t tell a hunter in the first place. But what can he tell Dean right now that he doesn’t know?

“Something you don’t know? I removed the bandages on my wing today.”

“Dude, it’s a figure of speech. It means what you said was obvious and I already knew it.”

Castiel glares down at the peonies that bloom by his foot. He can feel the blush already burning on the back of his neck. How was he supposed to know that? It’s been years since he’s had a proper conversation with anyone and he’s not used to sarcasm or idioms. Even spending a week in Dean’s company wasn’t enough for him to be able to adjust to all of that. It’s not fair that Dean should be allowed to mock him for that.

“That’s awesome about your wing, though.” Dean continues talking while Castiel glowers at the peonies. “Have you gone flying yet?”

“No.” Castiel stretches his wings along the back of the othil, feeling the ache as they curve along the walls. “I want to spend a few days stretching it and heal it a little more before attempting that. I don’t want it to give out on me mid-flight.”

Dean’s smile is audible and it brings another to Castiel’s lips. “Sounds like I plan to me. I’d hate to call you next week and find out from Silvanus that you went face-first into a tree.”

“I haven’t done that since I was a child and you can’t understand Silvanus.”

“It was a joke, Cas.”

“A very poor one.”

This conversation lasts longer than their last one. Dean doesn’t work today and he tells Castiel all about how he’s been working for Bobby to earn some extra money. He gets to drive a big truck around and pick up abandoned or broken cars so he and Bobby can either fix them or they get to take them apart and sell the scrap.

Castiel barely understands most of what Dean says, but it’s fascinating to listen to the excitement and passion in Dean’s voice. He truly loves machines and the way they work. Castiel can hear it in his voice and the words he doesn’t say while he speaks. Dean talks about how he’s taken to cooking with Bobby instead of ordering food to be delivered to them and even though they don’t make nearly as fancy things as Castiel makes (“Dean, there is nothing fancy about my meals.” “You make everything from scratch, Cas. That’s fancy.”) they’re pretty good and Dean enjoys it. He’s even thinking about picking up a cook book for more recipes.

“Cheese, Cas. Tell me you at least know cheese.”

“I know of it. But what I’ve had is probably not the same kind of cheese that you know of.”

And that leads into an extended rant about the wonders of things called ‘pizza’ and ‘cheeseburgers’ and a vast number of foods that Castiel has never even heard of before. Dean talks about how Bobby even bought a book full of recipes and Dean can’t wait to give a lot of them a try. There’s more passion in Dean’s voice again and Castiel likes hearing it, he likes listening to it. It makes him a little envious because he has nothing he’s that passionate about. Castiel isn’t even all that dedicated to his mats. They’re just a means to an end.

The last time Castiel felt anything like what he hears in Dean’s voice was when he was training warriors before leading them out on missions. Of course he’s devoted to the forest and keeping it alive and well, but it’s not something that he would describe with such fervor as Dean does.

Dean listens to him talk about how the garden, the forest, and Silvanus are doing. But Castiel has significantly less to talk about, and whenever he tries to turn the conversation back to Dean, he talks for a bit about how he goes to the bar and plays a game with a long stick used to knock balls against each other and into six holes. It’s another method of getting money. But then Dean turns the conversation back to him and asks things like what it was like when he was a child.

“I’m –” Castiel crosses his legs and traces the circles and lines on his feet. After his bath they’re even fainter than before. He’ll have to repaint them in the next few days. “Dean, I’m not used to talking about myself. Especially the more intimate things like my past.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. If I ever ask a question you’re not comfortable with answering, you can just tell me to fuck off. I’m not going to take it badly, I promise.” Dean’s voice gets soft and Castiel can’t tell if he’s hurt by his unwillingness to speak about himself or if he’s just being kind. “Just talk to me about what you feel comfortable with or we can hang up and I’ll call back next week?”

He frowns, not wanting the conversation to end yet, and leans back to stare blankly at the ceiling. “I don’t know what to talk about.”

“Well how much of your childhood is off limits?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about I ask some questions and if you want to answer it you do, or you can just say ‘next’ and I’ll ask another?”

By this process, Castiel refuses to talk about his parents but tells Dean about the first time he ever tried flying and how it was before his wings were fully fledged, nearly breaking his arm in the process. He skips over telling Dean about his first visit to the clan and everything that it entails – specifically the ceremony where he discovered his powers. And he avoids telling Dean anything about the clan or what it was like when he decided to be a warrior.

But he does tell Dean about the first time that he broke a bone, and all the animals that he’s helped over the years. He starts with the bear cub he found after its mother had been killed by poachers, expounding upon how he raised her happy and healthy and she lived a full life until she died of old age. The same is said for the injured fox he found and healed and now wears the tail as an ornament at his hip with the coyote and squirrel tails and the snake skin around his left forearm. Their stories are all fairly similar.

“Cas, that’s only five. You told me the lines are your thigh are for all the animals that you’ve cared for over the years, but you’ve only told me about five.” Dean’s sounds confused and Castiel is surprised he remembered something like that to start with. “Is the sixth Silvanus?”

“The sixth line is for the ladder horn snail that found its way into my belongings when I was stationed by a lagoon and ended up coming home with me.” That’s vague enough that Dean won’t be able to take much detail it.

“I don’t remember seeing a snail shell.”

He sighs and his hand slides from where it rests on his thigh to the string attached to his wrap. “It’s on a string that I wear at my hip. Along with a sea shell I collected from the first time I went to the ocean and an aquamarine gemstone that my mother used to carry because it reminded her of my eyes.”

“That’s sweet.” Dean’s voice changes and sounds sadder. “My mom used to have a necklace with a green stone in it. We lost it in the storm that – well, y’know – and I can never remember the name of it. But she used to say it was her favourite because it reminded her of me.”

Castiel closes his eyes and pictures Dean’s eyes, focusing less on their shape and the lines around them and more on the colour. There are several green gemstones that he could see being the colour of Dean’s eyes and he could probably list them all for him if he wanted to. They’re not as dark as an emerald, or as blue-green as apatite. In the sun, they’re lighter and flecked with lighter shades and yellow, just like –

“Peridot.” Castiel says softly.

Dean takes a sharp breath and he’s silent for several moments before he speaks so quietly Castiel can barely hear it. “That’s – Holy shit, how did you know that?”

“An educated guess. I know what your eyes look like and I know of various gemstones. Peridot is a more common stone that would be used for jewelry and the one that I think is the most similar to your eyes.” Castiel looks down at the aquamarine that he’s rolling between his fingers. “I’m sorry, should I not have said anything?”

“No, Cas. That’s – uh – that’s good.” His voice goes warm and Castiel can hear his smile. “That’s real good. I’ve been trying to figure that out for years. Thanks.”

Their conversation starts to dwindle after that and Castiel isn’t surprised when Dean eventually clears his throat. “Well, we’ve been on the phone a hell of a lot longer than I expected we would be.”

“How long is that?”

“I thought we’d talk for something like fifteen minutes. Jesus, it’s been nearly two hours. I don’t talk to anyone but Sam for that long.” Dean sounds so surprised that Castiel can’t help but smile. “I should probably go. Same time next week?”

“Or sooner?”

Dean laughs again and Castiel finds himself memorizing the sound of it. “Yeah, or sooner. Any time you want to talk, just call me.”

It’s barely an hour after they end their call that Castiel wants to talk to him again. Silvanus is doing the closest thing that he has to sleep and the quiet is suffocating. Castiel fills it with soft songs while he works the oil into his feathers for the first time in weeks. Preening feels wonderful and Castiel does it for much longer than the task actually requires before he continues with the rest of his day.

Dean calls a few days later. It’s late in the evening and the call barely lasts a half hour. There are loud noises in the background and the conversation starts with Dean being excited about winning a decent amount of money in that ‘pool’ game again. He walks Castiel through exactly how he did it and gives a better explanation of the game. His voice sounds uneven and his words slur until he gives a rushed goodbye and hangs up.

It leaves Castiel confused and worried. But the next morning, during his hike to the waterfalls, Dean calls again. Silvanus groans the moment the phone starts ringing. At least all he does is grumble and stomp ahead to the falls before him. He’ll likely be soaking in the river by the time that Castiel gets there.

He takes a deep breath before answering the phone. “I’m not complaining, Dean, but this is the third time in a week. I was under the impression that you were only going to call me once a week.”

“This isn’t a phone call, this is an apology.” Dean sounds pained, his voice quiet and it echoes strangely wherever he is. “I checked my phone when I woke up and apparently I drunk dialed you last night. I have no idea what I talked about, but I thought I’d, y’know, apologize.”

Castiel nearly laughs as he picks his way through the forest, his wings twitching against his back with anticipation for the coming flight. “You talked about your winnings and how you did it.”

Dean sighs loudly in relief. “Thank the ever loving gods of pie. I thought I’d said something stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I dunno. Just, something stupid.” He sighs again and Castiel can almost hear the shrug of his shoulders. “I actually do work for Bobby today, so I’ve gotta go get ready. Do you still want me to call you on the day I was supposed to or…?”

Castiel frowns slightly, looking down at his feet. “You can call me as often as you’d like to, Dean.” If he could bring himself to ask for it, he’d like a phone call every day, even if it’s just for a few minutes.

He doesn’t exactly want to feel hope about getting to talk to Dean more than once a week, but it is something that he would like. Especially since Silvanus has finally given in and he’ll be returning to his rounds of the mountain range once he’s certain that Castiel is fully healed. For that, Castiel needs to fly. His wing no longer aches and once he flies, Silvanus will leave. Then he will be completely alone for almost a month again.

Dean takes a while to answer and he sounds awkward, like he doesn’t know what to say. “Okay. I’ll – um – I’ll talk to you soon, then. Bye, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Dean.” Castiel ends the call as he approaches the river.

Silvanus is shoulder deep in the water, letting the rushing current flow through the ribs of bark body. He’s glowering at Castiel and ducks down to paddle out further into the river. Castiel ignores him and tucks the phone back into the bag as he goes to the cliff. He checks the ties to make sure that the bag is firmly attached to his wrap and that nothing is going to fall off or come apart.

 ** _Fly safe, Qaal._** Silvanus calls quietly from the water and Castiel flaps his wing in response.

Standing at the edge of the cliff and feeling the wind rustling through his feathers is cathartic. It chases away everything else and clears his mind better than any meditation. Castiel stretches his wings as wide as they’ll go, arching them above his head and experimentally flapping them in full. His wing feels as good as new and as badly as Castiel would like to throw himself from the cliff and spread his wings to catch the air as he nears the ground, he doesn’t want to put _that_ much strain on it during his first flight.

He barely falls more than a few feet once he launches from the cliff, his wings spread wide and already beating to keep him airborne. It’s exhilarating and cleansing and the best feeling of freedom in the world. Castiel closes his eyes and he soars, following the cliff side and slowly letting himself slip in altitude until he’s skimming above the treetops. When he flies, he doesn’t need to think. Everything is just instincts and the sheer joy that comes with flight.

Castiel flies until his wings are sore and he angles toward him. He circles above the clearing in front of his salman is before swooping down to land where Silvanus is already waiting. They spend the rest of the day walking through the forest together, checking that the trees and the animals are well. Silvanus communes with the plants, the glow of his powers brightening in his eyes, through his ribs and between the vines of his body. He pinpoints the sick plants and trees for Castiel to stop and heal.

When it comes time for dinner, Castiel eats outside with Silvanus. It’s what he’s always done the night before Silvanus is supposed to leave for his duties. But it’s the first time that they don’t talk. Silvanus watches Castiel with his chin on his crossed paws.

“Why are you unhappy that I have a friend?” Castiel asks quietly, not looking up from the vegetable stew he’s eating with triangles of bread.

 ** _A friend is not bad._** **Humans _are bad._** Silvanus growls out, shaking his head slightly. **_Being friends with a Human is bad. Being friends with a_ hunter _is worse._**

“Dean redeemed himself.” He’s offended that Silvanus would think his judgment is that poor.

**_It could be planning worse. It could use you to get to the clan._ **

Castiel lifts his head to glare at him. “If you’re going to be insulting, the least you could do is stop calling him an ‘it’. And Dean wouldn’t do that.”

Silvanus huffs a sigh, resignation settling throughout their bond. **_You want to think that he wouldn’t do that. Hunters are liars. All Humans are liars and killers._**

His wings flare sharply, angrily. “I have more cause than most to dislike Humans and even _I_ don’t hate them to your extent.” He lets his power surge dangerously, not caring about the layered petals of the begonias that spread around him in warning. “Why don’t you believe that Dean could possibly be good? That he actually wants to be my friend?”

No answer is forthcoming and Silvanus turns his face away, grumbling quietly. It takes Castiel several minutes to calm down enough to be able to finish his meal. Silvanus doesn’t speak to him until after he’s cleaned up and returned to working on his current mat.

**_Humans killed Qaal._ **

Castiel looks over quickly, nearly unseating himself as his twists around to face him. “I’m not –”

 ** _First Qaal. You raised me and gave me life again. First Qaal created me. He trusted Humans, he trusted_** **hunters _, and they killed him._** Silvanus is watching him steadily from the entrance. **_There is so much of First Qaal in you and I do not want to see the same fate fall to you._**

His stomach twists and Castiel nearly flinches from the pain he can feel through their connection. He gets up and rather than spend the night in his nest, like he finally can, he lays wrapped in his wings and curled in the space between Silvanus’s front legs. They don’t exactly talk, but Castiel promises that he’ll be careful. He promises not to tell Dean anything about the clan, or anything that he could use against him. He promises that he’ll never see Dean again and if he gets even the slightest suspicion that Dean is out for worse than that, then he’ll cut all ties with him and end him if he shows up again after that.

Castiel isn’t sure if he’d really be able to do that to Dean, not after he already considers him a friend, but for Silvanus’s sake he can try. When Silvanus leaves in the morning, it feels the same as when Dean left. There’s silence and loneliness and it takes all of Castiel’s will power not to call Dean to make it go away. He listens to the forest and fills his head with the voices of the trees and the animals instead. It’s a poor replacement, but it is calming.

The weeks that Silvanus is gone pass quickly. With the clan gathering approaching in less than two months, Castiel has the last of his orders to finish and many regular mats to prepare for trading. His calls with Dean never go back to the one call a week schedule. Dean calls every few days and they speak anywhere from fifteen minutes to a couple hours, although Dean does do most of the talking. Castiel is never the one who calls him. There are many times that he picks up the phone to do it, but he never completes the call no matter how badly he wants to. The only time that he ever calls Dean is if he happens to miss the call because his hands are busy and he can’t get to the phone in time.

Dean talks about all the different things that he watches and reads, explaining everything that Castiel doesn’t understand. Castiel still shares very little of himself, only telling what he’s done and what he’s planning on doing in the coming days. Sometimes Dean manages to ask the right questions and Castiel will tell him things like the day he spent sitting in a field as a child and falling in love with the bees. And Dean listens as he explains the process of making the dye paste for his markings and applying it with an animal hair paint brush.

The day Dean makes him outright laugh is the first day that Castiel hangs up on him without saying goodbye. It’s not something Dean achieved with a silly joke or amusing story. It happens entirely because of his giddy excitement that he’s finally saved up enough money to not only fix up a few things about his car, but to drive across the country and visit his brother during the first week of summer break before Sam picks up more hours at his job.

Neither one of them is expecting the reaction that Castiel has to that news. He’s paying attention to Dean’s words, but he’s not focused on controlling himself like he usually does, his hands moving with the weaving of a mat while the phone is pinned between his ear and his shoulder. The laugh isn’t like the ones he usually has, easily covered with a cough or just a muffled snicker in his throat. It’s a full laugh that comes from deep in his chest.

Castiel hasn’t laughed like that in – he doesn’t even remember the last time. It might even have been long before his disgrace. He drops the phone and sits there with his hands in his lap, staring at the phone. Laughter. He hasn’t – that’s the first – that’s just – Castiel doesn’t know what to do or what he should have said. He doesn’t know what Dean is thinking or what he’s going to do. He doesn’t know why Dean’s excitement would be enough for that. He doesn’t _know_ – and that’s terrifying.

Worse, still, is the single purple lilac that buds beside the phone. Castiel crushes the small flower between his fingers, tearing it from the ground and throwing it into the oven over the fire. He’s crouched in front of the oven door, watching the embers inside burn the flower, when the phone rings again. He ignores it and the three other times that it rings over the next few hours. It drops off to ringing once every few hours and Castiel leaves the phone in the salman when he goes for a walk to get away from it and the little flower that is nothing more than ash in the oven.

That night, Castiel can’t sleep. His nest swings slightly whenever he shifts, twisting from being curled on his left side to curled on his right to sleeping on his stomach. Sometimes he sits up to stare out the window above the entrance and watch the fireflies dancing between the trees. The purple petals of the lilac are burned into his mind and he keeps going back to Dean’s voice and his laughs and what he remembers of his smile.

It’s been a little over a month since Dean left. Longer since he _attacked_ Castiel. That should colour how he thinks of Dean. And it does, but not in the way that it’s supposed to. When Castiel thinks about what Dean first did, it’s rationalized by what Dean told him about his upbringing and what he’s been led to believe his whole life. Castiel shouldn’t implicitly trust what Dean told him about his past, but he hadn’t sensed any deception in him. Dean was – he was _honest_ with Castiel. For a hunter, that’s likely not something he can usually be.

Dean attacked him, realized he made a mistake, and he tried his best to fix it. He didn’t – he _hasn’t_ – asked of Castiel any more than he’s willing to give. Talking with him is actually enjoyable and he gives Castiel everything he’s denied himself since his disgrace. Castiel doesn’t – _can’t_ – ask for it, for more. But Dean gives it anyways because he said he enjoyed Castiel’s company. He _wanted_ to keep talking with him. Dean is the one who calls and continues their conversations. Dean makes the effort to stay in contact and that could mean he has ulterior motives or it could simply mean that he knows Castiel won’t do it because he doesn’t deserve it.

But… why? Why doesn’t Castiel deserve it? He’s not the first Hamiaah in history to do what he did. There have been others that have done _worse_ and never been ostracized the way he was. Is it because his wings are black? Castiel has no control over the colour of his wings. Why should he be faulted for that? He should have been punished for his poor decision, but it wasn’t worth being _disgraced_.

Was it?

Why does Dean make him question everything that he’s known for decades? Castiel wasn’t happy, but he was satisfied with his life. He was living at peace with the forest, the animals, and Silvanus. And then Dean came and he made everything _different._ Up is down and right is left. He didn’t do it on purpose, but it’s what he did and from it Castiel got a friend. His first friend in decades and, while watching the fireflies, Castiel realizes that he doesn’t want to lose that.

When he jumps from the nest, he unfurls his wings enough to slow his drop. He finds the phone tucked between the stuffed mats of the othil. It’s late into the night and Dean might be sleeping, but that’s what Castiel is hoping for. He remembers Dean mentioning a machine that will answer for him and he hopes that he can leave an apology without having to speak to Dean directly.

It picks up on the fifth ring and there’s nothing but the silence of someone not speaking. Castiel’s hand falls to the edge of his qaa, fidgeting with the string that keeps it tied together. It’s never comfortable to sleep with his wrap on because of how it goes around his neck and shoulders to stay on, and he’d only worn it when he slept while Dean was here because of how Dean had reacted the first time Castiel had moved to take it off on the beach.

Dean is the first to speak and he doesn’t sound as tired as Castiel thought he would be considering the time of night. “Did I do something to piss you off?”

“No.” Castiel crouches by the embers of the fire to warm himself.

“You gonna explain what happened this morning?”

He opens and closes his mouth as if to speak, but nothing comes out. Castiel doesn’t even know what to properly say except for an apology. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not really an explanation, Cas.” Dean’s voice goes flat and it makes something sharp and painful twist through Castiel’s chest. But then Dean sighs and his voice changes again, turning into something like wry amusement. “I guess that’s the best I’m gonna get, isn’t it? I know you’ve got fifty years worth of being alone to deal with, and a month of me isn’t going to change that yet.”

Castiel rubs at his arm and curves his wings around his shoulders, dipping his chin to his chest. “Thank you, Dean. I do want to explain, it’s just –”

“Hard for you. I know, Cas. Don’t worry about it. Are we okay?”

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel smiles down at the stones that line the fire pit. “We’re okay.”

The relief is audible in Dean’s sigh and Castiel can hear his smile. “Good. Now I can tell you what I didn’t get to tell you earlier. It’s not bad, I promise.” Castiel digs his fingers into his arm and waits. “Bobby knows about you and he’s helping me keep you a secret. But Sam doesn’t know. He’s all about Angel Rights and if I tell him I’m friends with an Angel, he’s going to want to come out there and bother the hell out of you to learn everything he can’t learn in school. He’s probably going to turn you into some kind of school project and try and talk you into coming to speak at the school and who-the-hell-knows what else. I don’t want to put you through that.”

It’s easy to see where Dean is going with this conversation but it doesn’t stop disappointment from curling low in his stomach. “You’re saying that you won’t be calling as often while you’re visiting him.”

“Yeah, pretty much. I’ll still call at least once a week, but I haven’t seen Sam in – fuck, it’s been forever. I just – I’m not ashamed of you or anything. But there are three kinds of people in this world, two of them are Angel obsessed and one of them couldn’t care less about you guys. Dad’s obsessed with killing you and Sam’s obsessed with learning about you and I don’t want either of them bugging you.”

“And what are you?”

Dean falls silent and his answer comes on a quiet breath Castiel barely hears. “I don’t know what I am.”

Castiel smiles softly. He knows that feeling. “Then perhaps there is a fourth kind of person? Those who are considered friends?”

“Yeah, that sounds good to me.” His voice continues to stay soft. “Y’know, if I ever do see you again, I fully expect you to keep smiling as much as you do when we talk on the phone.”

He doesn’t expect to ever see Dean again, but he can’t promise that he would keep smiling if they did. And besides, he promised Silvanus that he wouldn’t see Dean again. Of course he has no control over whether or not Dean would come visit him again. But he won’t ask him to come here.

If he lets himself imagine getting to see Dean again, he can feel his heart start beating harder and there’s a change in the heat of his body. It’s a reaction that Castiel doesn’t understand, but it’s not one that he particularly dislikes. When he reaches for that fantasy, purple delphinium bloom around him and the fire pit. Castiel doesn’t frown at them, instead reaching out to touch them lightly. He _likes_ the idea of having Dean come back to visit him. But it’s still not something that he’ll ever hold hope for, even with Dean no longer travelling with his father.

“Sorry.” Dean mumbles into the silence of the answer Castiel never gave. “It’s late and I’m just talking outta my ass right now. I think it’s bed time. I’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow but I’ll call you before I get to Sam’s, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight, Dean.”

He still has trouble sleeping the rest of the night. And the night after that, and every night that follows. The lilac won’t leave his thoughts and the more he thinks about it, the more it bothers him. Castiel won’t deny that he found Dean aesthetically pleasing to start with, but once Dean made him start thinking about what ‘floats his boat’, Castiel couldn’t help admiring Dean and his muscles and his tight clothes and – and, yes, he is physically attracted to Dean.

But that doesn’t mean that he’s emotionally attracted to him too. Dean is a friend. The only friend Castiel has had in so long that he doesn’t want to ruin that. Just because Dean enjoys talking to him and admitted to thinking that Castiel is attractive, doesn’t mean that he would want anything more than friendship from him. He’s so caught up in thinking about the lilac and this jumble of emotions he doesn’t know or understand in his chest that he barely remembers his phone call with Dean before he reaches Sam’s house.

It takes weeks for those thoughts to fade away. Dean’s visit with Sam goes longer than Dean expected and Castiel fills the long times between the calls with devoting himself to his garden. He’ll harvest most of the vegetables and fruits before he goes to the clan gathering, but there will still be many that will require a shelter to be erected around the garden to protect it while he’s gone.

Dean doesn’t leave Sam’s place for nearly a month, but each weekly phone call that Castiel gets is full of updates on Sam’s life and his goals and how his relationship is going with a girl named Jessica. More than once Dean calls her ‘a keeper’ and swears that if Sam doesn’t marry her, he will. Castiel has to swallow down an acidic burn as yellow roses burst in little batches all around him. Sometimes Dean lets slip that Sam is setting him up on dates and once Castiel learns what those are, he hates hearing about them and he wishes it was only because he doesn’t have them himself.

But Castiel doesn’t want his own dates. Not with people he doesn’t know. He just doesn’t like _Dean_ going on dates with strangers who get to spend the time with him that he can’t have. Castiel never says anything about it, but their conversations are shorter every time Dean mentions them. Not once does he ever mention the pending clan gathering.

It’s a week before he leaves when Dean calls with the news that he’s going to go looking for his father. “We haven’t heard from him in months and I’m getting worried.”

“I fully understand. Since finding your father means that you won’t be hunting Hamiaah, then I completely support your decision to do it.” Even if it means that Dean will be calling even less.

“Once I’m out of here, I’ll start calling more again and I’ll stop talking your ear off about Sam. Promise.”

“You’re very proud of him. I understand it, Dean. You don’t have to apologize for being proud of your brother’s accomplishments.” Castiel stands up from tying bundles of mats together. “I enjoy listening to you talk. Whether it’s about your brother or about your car, I like to hear about it all.”

“Except for the dates.”

He winces and his wings curl protectively over his shoulders. Of course Dean would notice that. If he’s observant enough to know when Castiel is smiling over the phone, why wouldn’t he notice when he stops talking after certain subjects. And Castiel doesn’t know what to say. Yes, he doesn’t like listening to Dean talk about his dates because it’s a reminder that he can’t be with or have Dean in the ways that he’s not entirely sure he even wants. Or he can lie and tell Dean that he doesn’t mind hearing about it and then he’ll have to sit through more stories with that acidic burn in his throat while his chest feels too tight.

“I should’ve known better. Sorry, Cas.” Dean continues, unhindered by Castiel’s silence. “I shouldn’t be talking about that kinda stuff when it probably makes you super uncomfortable since you’re – y’know.”

“Since I’m what?” Panic starts to pinch around his ribs. How could Dean possibly know of Castiel’s internal emotional turmoil for the last while?

A defeated sigh precedes Dean’s answer. “A virgin, Cas. You’re a virgin.”

Even with Dean an untold distance away, Castiel can feel the blush rise in his cheeks. He may be a virgin, but this is still an excellent opportunity to request that Dean no longer talk about his relationships with other people with him. Castiel hums lightly, as if in uncomfortably agreement and Dean makes a small noise that sounds unhappy.

 “Don’t worry about it, Dean.”

“Does it help if I say that it’s never gone past double date dinners with Sam and Jess? They invite me and one of their friends along to see if we hit it off and the only reason I’ve been going is for the free dinners I get out of it. It’s been so long since we’ve hung out that Sam doesn’t really know my type anymore. None of these girls are actually interesting.”

Something bubbles in Castiel’s chest that feels a little too much like _hope_. But he still doesn’t want to think about it or talk about it further. “Dean –”

“Sorry, never mind. I’d switch to a new topic, but Sam’s gonna be back soon and I’ve got to start packing and making a list of some shit I want to buy. There’s something I’ve gotta do before I start looking for dad.” Dean cuts him off and Castiel frowns at the rush of words. “I’ll call you again in a few days, okay?”

His frown deepens. “Okay. Goodbye.”

Dean makes a little noise again that Castiel doesn’t recognize. “Bye, Cas. I’ll um – yeah. Bye.”

The call leaves Castiel more confused about what he feels for Dean than before. Because his mind is so wrapped in that, more than once over the next few days he’s distracted enough that he keeps forgetting little things and has to unpack and repack his bags multiple times. Even on the morning of the day before Silvanus is supposed to arrive to help him take everything to the gathering, he’s curled in his nest and double checking his mental list.

He’s halfway through the list and already there are at least five things that he might have forgotten but he doesn’t want to get down from his nest to check to make sure if reality matches his memory. And he especially doesn’t want to face the day. It’s just one more closer to going to the gathering and having to deal with the outright _hatred_ , only to come back to an empty salman where he’s just alone again.

By midmorning, Castiel still isn’t out of his nest. The only thing that makes him move is the sound of footsteps on the grass outside. They’re too light to be Silvanus and too steady to be a stranger hesitantly approaching someone else’s home. He tenses and curls his wings in tightly against his body, hiding his presence in the nest as the vines over the entrance rustle when they’re pushed aside.

“Cas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s flowers…
>
>> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Begonia: beware  
> \- Purple Lilac: first emotion of love  
> \- Delphinium: joy  
> \- Yellow Roses: jealousy, a broken heart


	16. The Gathering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean licks his lips and after a moment’s hesitation he uses the side of his arm to push the vines out of the way, ducking under them and inside where the air is warmer and smells like – “Cas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

There’s nothing to be nervous about. Absolutely nothing at all. Dean has dropped in on friends unannounced a hundred times before. He’s done it to Lisa, to Benny, to Pam, to Bobby – he’s done it enough times that he shouldn’t be frikken _nervous_. But he is and those nerves just triple as he turns off the main road onto the dirt track that leads deeper into the forest, wincing at every whack and scrape of bushes that have grown too close to the road and hit his baby. It’s okay, it’s cool. Scratch resistant coating. He applied it himself when he fixed her up before leaving Bobby’s over a month ago.

Dean can’t keep his hands still, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. He keeps looking at the trees, both up top and down by the roots. If the forest talks to Cas, maybe it’s already told him that there’s a big, beautiful car pulling into town and he should get his fur-wearing ass down to the clearing. He half hopes that’s what happens, and half hopes that it doesn’t. It would ruin the surprise and ruin the little scene he’s got plotted out in his head.

He knows everything he’s going to say and everything he’s going to do. What he doesn’t know is how Cas is going to react. Dean knows what he’s _hoping_ for – but Cas doesn’t always react to things the way he thinks he would. Like the first time he actually got Cas to laugh. It’s possibly the best sound Dean’s ever heard, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting Cas to hang up the phone and ignore him for the rest of the day because of it.

Cas still hasn’t explained why he freaked out, and maybe he never will, but Dean’s cool with that because he’s gotten more laughs out of him since. Nothing ever as big as that again, but it’s still little chuckles and it’s fucking _great_. Nearly as great as hearing him smile. And that’s what Dean wants with this surprise. He wants to see Cas’s smile, and he can’t remember the last time he wanted to see something as simple as that.

It’s been what, three months since he was here? Pushing four, maybe? Were the ruts in the road this grown over then or is it just his memory playing tricks on him? Either way, if he’s going to be visiting more with Cas (carefully not thinking about how much he would really like to do that), they’re going to need to work out a place for him to keep the impala that’s safer than just leaving her in the middle of a rarely used dirt path. And thinking about that just makes him start feeling that little bit more paranoid that maybe Cas won’t want this. Maybe he won’t want Dean visiting or stopping by once a month or something like that.

There’s really no point in thinking about it until he actually sees Cas and gets to talk with him. All the stuff in the backseat – the cooler he and Bobby spent a month last year making solar-powered,  a sleeping bag, a couple pillows, enough food to last at least a week, a grill designed to be put over an open fire – that’s all just _hope_. Even the organic hippie food – the cheese and the free range, grain fed, expensive-as-all-hell chicken that Cas might not even eat but Dean can sure as hell try – that’s just… Fuck, he doesn’t even _know_ anymore. But he wants to try and make food for Cas now. He wants to _try_ and just – fuck, just what? Do more? _Be_ more? He doesn’t know. Cas keeps making him think things he hasn’t thought before and sometimes it’s exhilarating and sometimes it’s fucking terrifying.

But if Cas lets him hang around for a bit, Dean wants to make this a regular thing. He’s wanted to come back for over a month now and he doesn’t want to look too closely at _why_. If he does that, he’ll have to think about why talking to Cas on the phone isn’t enough anymore. He’ll have to think about how talking to Cas is the highlight of his day and that half the time he was hanging with Sam, all he could think about was when he’d get the chance to call him again, or planning out all the things that he could tell him about, or more questions to ask.

It was a pain in the ass trying to keep Sam from finding out that he was making regular phone calls to someone he doesn’t know. It was even harder not to tell him about Cas. Dean’s never kept a secret from Sam. Not once. He’s always told Sam everything – from his first kiss to the first time he had sex. Hell, Sammy even knows when Dean first started masturbating and that was really all an unfortunate accident, because Dean was sure that Sam had been asleep in the other motel bed when he’d given that a whirl. Sam even knows that Dean’s bisexual and just how far he’s gotten with exploring that particular side of his sexuality.

Not telling Sam about Cas is kinda tearing him in half.

One part of Dean wants to tell Sam because that’s what he’s always done and he knows that Sam would go apeshit over him being friends with an _angel_. Hell, Sam would probably sell Jess just for the information Dean’s picked up from only talking with Cas. Like the different Enochian words he knows, and how all Human languages stemmed from theirs, and God knows what else Dean has stashed away in his head without realizing it.

And the other part of him is dark and selfish. He’s shared everything with Sam since the day they drove away from the wreckage that used to be their childhood home. If there’s anyone in this world who might know Dean better than he knows himself, it’s Sam. But he doesn’t want to share _this_. He’s not ashamed of knowing Cas – fuck no, he’s proud as hell that Cas called him a friend. He just doesn’t want to share _him_. So far he’s managed to explain it away as wanting to keep Cas safe, but there’s more to it. He’s certain of it.

Somewhere in his head, a little voice keeps comparing Cas to Jess. Like how Sam admitted he was nervous about introducing Jess to Dean because all the girls he used to like in school always had huge crushes on his big brother. Jess, of course, is fucking awesome and Dean is happy as a pig in shit that Sam has her. But he doesn’t want to think about why a part of him is comparing Cas to Sam’s _girlfriend_ when he and Cas just aren’t like that.

Dean may have the odd fantasy – or two, or three, or twenty – about Cas, but that doesn’t mean he wants to be _like that_ with him. And just because he’s itching to see Cas again and would kill to see his smile – well, there’s no way Cas is to him like Jess is to Sam. Right? _Right?_

Fuck. Too much thinking. He needs to just stop and not think about feelings or anything like that and just focus on seeing Cas and how awesome that’s going to be. He’s shit with feelings any way. Actions, actions are good. He can do that.

After a few minutes of driving, he finds the area where he’d parked the car and trailer before. There’s this big rock that he’d used to mark the location before. He parks the impala there and gets out, stretching the moment he’s on his feet. The drive took him straight from California here and he didn’t stop once – except to pick up some more totally organic things that Dean knows Cas doesn’t have out here. If Cas lets him stay, he’s going to make him some goddamn _pizza_.

It’s almost mid-morning according to his watch and Dean knows Cas is an early riser. If the forest hasn’t told him yet, then maybe Dean can still make this a surprise. As far as he can see, Cas isn’t here yet. So Dean can either cart everything from the impala up to Cas’s place without knowing if he’s actually going to be allowed to stay, or he can leave it all here for now and go find Cas and if he’s totally cool with it, then maybe he’ll come help Dean carry everything back. Yeah. That sounds like the better plan.

Cas doesn’t show up unexpectedly the entire walk from the impala to the clearing. Or from the clearing to the place on the path where he finds the little dirt trail that leads to Cas’s house – to his… Fuck, what’s it called? He can remember Cas saying it the first time, starts with an ‘ee’ and ends with a ‘nah’. Dammit, he doesn’t know. But Cas called it his ‘lair’ and that will never not be amusing to him.

His hands start feeling sweaty when the rock pile that makes up the tail end of the cliff and the cave behind Cas’s house comes into view through the trees. He wipes them on his jeans and tries really hard to ignore the jittery nerves that make him want to turn around and forget the whole thing. What if Cas isn’t home? Should Dean wait around here? Or should he get his ass lost in the woods to go looking for him? Maybe he’s at the garden and Dean should go check that out first. Or maybe he should stop being a pussy and suck it up.

Instead of following the path through the trees as it loops around the little clearing in front of Cas’s place, he ditches the path and cuts across the grass. The flowers are still in full bloom around the sand pit and Dean can smell them from here. They’re potent but they don’t actually smell _bad_. It’s kinda nice, actually, and it reminds Dean of the first time that he came here. It would be a nostalgic moment if the first time he’d come here wasn’t while he was half carrying Cas’s after breaking his wing and busting up his arm and leg.

He tries really hard to listen over his footsteps and the annoyingly loud sound of his own heart, hoping to hear something moving around inside the lair. As far as he can tell, there’s nothing happening on the other side of the hanging vines and moss that covers the entrance. Briefly he thinks about knocking to announce himself first, but it’s not like he’s been ninja stealthy out here or anything. Hell, he’s pretty sure he stepped on at least a half dozen twigs between leaving the trail and getting to here.

Dean licks his lips and after a moment’s hesitation he uses the side of his arm to push the vines out of the way, ducking under them and inside where the air is warmer and smells like – “Cas?”

The first glance around the room sends Dean’s heart dropping into his stomach and the veritable sea of disappointment floating around in there. Cas isn’t here. Unless he’s tucked himself away in the back of the cave somewhere, he’s definitely not in the building. A few things are different now than they were the last time he was here and Dean catalogues it all without meaning to.

All the frames and most of the mats that had been hanging on the walls are gone now. The frames, he thinks, are in the cave. The mats, and he’s pretty sure it’s every mat that Cas has in the place, are rolled up together and stacked in a weird pyramid at the nearest end of the ota-lilly-couch, and there are a few bags alongside the stack. The fire is nothing but embers and that’s a little weird because Cas always kept it at least partially burning throughout the day.

Before Dean gives up on the house and goes looking for Cas at the garden, he crosses the room to the cave. It’s not a perfect semi-circle or anything and he sort of remembers seeing a little alcove by the back. Maybe that leads deeper and Cas is in there? Who knows? He could also just be trying to buy himself some time here so he doesn’t end up getting his ass lost in the forest. There are a few places – like the garden, or the beach, or even the wild chicken’s area – that he could try before he can start wandering around calling Cas’s name.

Or he could just stay here.

Dean gets two feet from the cave before he hears his name, soft, surprised and a good five feet above his head. He turns around and looks up, taking a few steps back to the mouth of the cave so he can see the head of messy dark hair and wide blue eyes watching him from over the edge of the nest. Cas’s wings rise up behind him, big, black, unbroken and fucking _gorgeous._

He’s pretty sure he stops breathing when Cas stands and hops over the edge of the nest, wings spreading out. Dean really wishes he could focus more on the fact that Cas just jumped from more than seven feet in the air and damn near floated down, but his brain got stuck somewhere on _skinskinskinskin_. Oh sweet pie in the sky why the hell is he only wearing that stupid qaa-loincloth thing? Where the hell is the fur wrap that makes it easier to look at him without thinking about his goddamn thighs and the flat line of his belly under his naval and – eyes, look him in the face and _say something_.

What he does is not what he was planning. Dean doesn’t authorize his feet to take him the short distance between them and he definitely doesn’t give his arms permission to fit around Cas’s shoulders and pull him into a tight hug that has them chest to chest and nearly hip to hip. Cas smells like the forest – like the dirt and the grass and the trees.

Dean holds the hug for what feels like a normal hug length. It’s long enough to feel Cas’s muscles lock up, to see his wings flare out in surprise, and hear the rustling burst of flowers that spread out around them. It’s those pink, fist-sized flowers again. Cas called them pee-something once. He glances down at them when he steps back, noticing that there are orange lilies mixed in the pink pee-somethings.

Cas’s ears are red and he looks even more surprised than before. His hand are in fists and Dean takes another step back in case Cas actually takes a swing at him. They’ve never hugged before (dear sweet Jesus on a cracker _why did he hug him_ ) and Cas is practically naked on top of that. He should just say something instead of having this _really awkward_ staring contest they’ve got going on.

He forces a little smile and prays that it doesn’t look nervous. “Hey, Cas.”

“Dean.” Cas says his name again and it still sounds like he doesn’t believe he’s really here.

“Yeah, me.” Dean shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep them from doing anything else that he hasn’t okayed. He slants a wide grin at Cas. “I told you I had something to do before I go looking for dad, didn’t I?”

His wings fold up against his back slowly, feathers shuffling and settling and Dean needs to not think about how awesome they look without the bandages and when they’re moving in tandem instead of just the one. Cas’s eyebrows come together in a frown. “You meant… me?”

It takes a ton of willpower not to read innuendo where Dean knows Cas doesn’t mean to have any. “Yeah, coming to visit you.” He spreads his arms and gives him another cheeky grin. “Surprise!” Cas relaxes slowly, but he still looks troubled and it’s really not the reaction that Dean was hoping to get. “You know, you could look a little happier to see me.”

Cas is quiet for a second before he dips his head, looking away, and starts to turn toward the fire. “I am. I’m just surprised.”

“That was the whole point.” Dean follows him, trying to keep level with his side in case Cas actually manages a smile. “You were thinking we’d never see each other again, weren’t you?”

“I was.” Cas crouches and throws some twigs and grass onto the embers, watching as they catch fire. “I didn’t expect you to return here again.”

Dean shrugs, staying standing and being really frikken thankful that when Cas’s wings are folded tight against his back, they cover his ass. Otherwise he’d be really distracted by checking out how it looks in the qaa. “I figured since I had some time to kill and I haven’t seen you in awhile, so – yeah.”

Cas doesn’t answer and he stays down by the fire, knees pressed to his chest while he’s hunkered down. He’s poking at the fire with the blackened stick, pushing everything around to make it bigger. Dean waits a few minutes before he crouches too, elbows on his knees.

“Is it okay that I’m here?”

He gets a slow nod as an answer, but Cas still isn’t looking at him and he’s hugging his knees with his other arm, chin tucked against it. This is starting to make Dean nervous again. If it’s okay that he’s here, why is Cas acting like this? Why isn’t he _happy_ or something?

“Do you want me to go?”

“No!” He looks up sharply, eyes going wide when he realizes how that must’ve sounded – coz’ to Dean that sounded like… like something he’s not going to think about. Cas frowns down at the growing fire, moving to throw more tinder on it. “But I have to. Silvanus is coming tomorrow morning to take me and all that –” He gestures over his shoulder to the pile of mats and bags. “– to the clan gathering. I’ll be gone for at least a week – it depends on how long it will take to trade everything. I don’t go past the village borders and I have to rely on someone to go back and forth for me. I can’t ask him to give me more time than he already does. Associating with me any more would risk him losing status.”

Dean will not smile, _he will not smile_. That is not thing you follow with a smile. Cas isn’t mad that he’s here, he’s upset that they’ll only have a day to hang out together. It’s really hard to not think of that as being adorable and he has to resist how it makes him want to hug Cas again.

“Well I don’t have a time limit, Cas.” Dean uses his elbow to nudge his shoulder. “I can hang out until you leave tomorrow and go spend a week in town, earn some money in the pool hall, catch a few movies, pick up a few things – and still be here when you get back.”

Cas looks up at that, eyes wide. White flowers, the ones with the three-petaled skirts around the green tube that hang heavy from the stalk, grow along the edge of the fire pit. Dean’s seen them before and he reaches out to touch one of them without thinking. “If you want me to, that is.”

“I would like that.”

Dean looks up at that and this time he’s pretty sure it’s his heart that’s stopped – right along with his goddamn lungs. Cardiac and respiratory arrest is the only way to explain the sudden almost painful feeling in his chest, like his ribs are getting too tight around his lungs while his stomach does summersaults underneath them. A smile. That’s an honest to God _smile_. It’s small but it’s there, pulling up at the corners of Cas’s lips and all in his eyes and that’s it. That’s what Dean’s been hearing on the phone for the last three months.

It’s everything that he was expecting and more and Dean fucking _grins_ at it. “So _that’s_ what that looks like, huh?” Yes, smart move, Winchester. Call attention to it so Cas can be self conscious about it.

But the smile doesn’t go away, if anything it gets… fonder? Cas just dips his head again and he stands. Dean stands too, otherwise he’d be at that awkward height where he’d be eyelevel with that stupid qaa and then that would put all sorts of ideas into his head. After three months of not seeing Cas and his constant half-nakedness, he’d been hoping that his libido would stop with all the dirty thoughts it keeps supplying him about tan skin with black tattoos that he could trace with his tongue and – and he shuts off that part of his brain before it really gets going.

Cas stretches his arms above his head and his wings spread out. Dean looks away, pretending to be more interested in how empty the place looks without all the mats hung up on the walls. The flapping-rustling noise has him looking back in time to see Cas jump and grab at the vines the make up the net that holds his nest in place. He lifts and climbs his way up to the edge, bringing his feet up to curl his toes in the net too while he reaches for something. When he drops back down, he’s holding his wrap.

“So that’s how you get up there?”

“One of the ways, and also why it hangs so low.” Cas shrugs and slips the neck loop over his head, the rest of the wrap hanging down his back between his wings except for the fur shoulder pads and the straps that end up dangling over his chest. “There’s not enough room in here to fly up, if that’s how you thought I did it.

Yeah, that _is_ kinda what he was thinking. “Here, let me get that.” Dean does up the back of the neck loop to keep it in place and he helps thread the strap of the wrap through the hole in the back that let’s Cas tie it up in the front.

Dean reclines on the ota-lilly-couch, leaning back against the mats that barely manage to hold a new batch of – Jesus, is that hay? He picks a strand of it out and twirls it between his fingers while Cas goes about with his morning routine. Visiting outside and using one of those mis-sticks to clean his teeth.

“Have you eaten yet?” Cas asks while he’s adding more fuel to the fire. “I have a few eggs left and some vegetables to make omelets again. I need to use up what I have stored so nothing will go bad while I’m at the gathering.”

“If you’ve got stuff that you want to keep here that you can’t because you’ll be gone, I can stay here if y’want. I’ve got some books in the car that I picked up at a sale Sam dragged me to. And I have a laptop.” Dean stands up to follow Cas into the cave. “I can keep myself entertained easy enough.”

Cas hands him a frying pan and a basket that Dean holds for him while he opens the root cellar to get at the vegetables and things he keeps down there. He lets Cas think while he gets seasonings and all the shit that he needs for his fancy omelets and Cas doesn’t talk again until they’re both sitting by the fire and Dean is chopping vegetables.

It kinda feels like he never left.

“You want to stay here while I’m gone?”

“If you want me to.” Dean passes him the plate of diced veggies to add to the egg mixture he’s been seasoning. “Or I can go to town. It’s up to you.”

Cas dumps it all into the pan and puts it over the fire, everything starting to sizzle and smell great almost immediately. “If you stay here, would you be able to check on the garden?”

“I’ve never gardened before. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I just need you to make sure that no animals get into it. Check at least once a day. I put up a shelter around it, but they’ve gotten in before.” Cas uses a stick with a flat edge, the closest thing to a spatula that Dean’s seen here, to push up the edges of the omelet before he does a fancy pan-flip like Dean’s seen them do in cooking shows. “If you’re willing, it would be appreciated.”

Dean leans back on his hands and watches Cas cook. “Sure, no problem. I can bring up the stuff I have in the car later and spend the week here. It’ll be like a mini-vacation.”

They’re halfway through eating the omelets, sitting side by side on the couch, when Dean realizes what exactly has always felt off about Cas’s place. It was bugging him the first time he was here and it’s bugging him now. “Dude, why don’t you have a table?”

Cas looks up, fingers still at his lips from his latest bite. He glances around the room before looking at him. “What would I need one for?”

“Preparing stuff on, eating at, sorting shit on so you’re not always hunched over the floor or something. That’s not so great for your back, y’know.” Dean shrugs and pops a piece of egg in his mouth, talking while he chews. “I dunno. I’ve just never seen a place that didn’t have a table and chairs.”

“I see.” Cas frowns and puts his plate down.

He shuffles forward and off the couch until he’s kneeling just in front of it, facing away. Dean has to lean back and draw his knees to his chest when Cas’s wings snap out, that weird blue light starting to glow under the feathers, layering over the black. His mouth opens to say something, but no words come out when Cas presses his palms to the ground and the light just gets brighter, wings spreading wider until the ends curve against the walls, one actually going out the entrance.

And then the ground starts to rumble. For a moment Dean thinks Cas called Silvanus and that frikken t-rex wannabe is gonna crash his way through the door to eat his face for brunch. Instead, directly under the nest and in the middle of the whole lair, a tree starts growing. Or more like it’s a bunch of little trees. They twist around each other to form the base and spread out at hip height. Dean stands up to watch them branch out, weaving over and under each other until they’re knitted tightly together.

“Holy shit.”

Cas just made a table. In under five minutes, Cas made an entire fucking _table_. It’s not exactly huge, maybe four feet across at best. But it’s a table in a near perfect circle, far as Dean can tell. There aren’t any chairs, but that’s okay because Dean forgets all about them the moment Cas’s wings sag, drooping without even folding in properly. He wobbles in place and Dean tosses his plate behind him onto the couch so he’s got both hand free to grab at Cas’s shoulders and keep him upright.

“There.” Cas barely says the word. It’s more like he pants it, gasping lungful after lungful of air. “A table. I’ll make chairs tomorrow.”

“Jesus, Cas, you didn’t have to do that just because I mentioned it.” Dean helps him back onto the couch, stepping out of the way when his wings start to fold up. “Especially not if it was gonna wear you out like this. It’s cool as hell, but don’t do shit that’s gonna tire you out when it’s not even noon yet.”

Cas leans against the stuffed mats and tilts his head back, taking deep breaths. He doesn’t say anything or really move from that spot for the next hour and a bit. Dean thinks he might actually be napping, but he does sometimes answer when Dean asks questions or says anything to him. It’s mostly little things like if he wants him to put away all the stuff from breakfast or leave anything out so he can use it for lunch later. He takes his time washing all the dishes and finding the shelves where they go in the cave, taking longer in there to compare how things have changed moved around now that it’s full on summer.

When Cas has enough energy to get up and actually move around, they go for a walk back to the impala. Dean wants to ask if there’s a better place to park her or if there’s some way they could make her a shelter, but he doesn’t. The last time he said anything like that, Cas went and made a fucking table. She was fine being out here for a month, and he’s got one of those sticks you put across the wheel and a tarp he can cover her with if he has to.

Cas asks questions about everything he pulls off the backseat and Dean explains in detail. He tells him about the cooler, and the bags, and the food (Cas pulls a weird frowny-curious face when Dean mentions that). They carry the cooler between them with the sleeping bag and pillows strapped on top of it. Cas has the duffle full of the food that doesn’t need to be kept cold, and Dean has his big-ass camping backpack with his clothes in it and the grill. All it takes is one go  to get back to the lair – with a few stops along the way because the cooler is fucking _heavy_.

“Where should we put this?” Cas gestures at the cooler while he dumps duffle on the table. “You said it needs to stay in the sun?”

“Preferably. The battery keeps it cool at night, but during the day it should stay in the sun.” Dean leaves the grill by the fire pit and goes to the couch to set up what’s going to be his bed for the next week and – and who knows how long he’s going to hang around after Cas comes back.

He’d like to spend at least a few days here with him, just to hang out and talk and soak up his company. No matter how satisfying it is to talk to him on the phone every other day for longer than he talks to anyone, there’s still this stupid itch under his skin. Dean needs _more_. And he doesn’t understand _why_.

The cooler ends up under the window, directly over the extra fire pit that Cas used for boiling the dye. If there’s not enough sunlight there, Dean can move it to the door during the day. Cas helps him set up the couch as his impromptu bed and more than once he offers to spare some blankets from his nest for Dean to be more comfortable. A quick test flop and stretch across the couch confirms that it’s totally okay and nothing else is needed.

They empty the duffle with the food onto the table. There’s a few travel sized boxes of cereal that even Cas can’t say ‘no’ to, and various different snack foods that Dean lays claim to. He didn’t bother getting anything like side dishes for the meat he’s got in the cooler, and seasonings and shit because he knows Cas already has all of that.

“You shouldn’t eat most of this.” Cas grumbles while reading the ingredients on the back of a bag of chips. “You’ll kill yourself eating this garbage.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not always gonna be around to feed me healthy stuff all the time.” Dean just barely manages not to stick his tongue out at him while swiping all the junk food back into the bag.

“I could if you stayed here.”

Even the birds don’t fill the silence that follows that. Dean looks up from getting the bag of beef jerky that evaded the duffle and made a nose dive to the floor. Cas’s mouth is open and he’s going red in the ears again. Those pee-something flowers (and one of these days Dean is going to buy a goddamn book to identify those fuckers) are popping up all over the place.

“I need to cleanse the lake before I go to the gathering.” Cas says it in a rush, already on his way out and leaving Dean speechless. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll be back soon.”

Dean goes to follow him. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s going to say  but by the time he gets past the vines, Cas is already sprinting across the little meadow and then he’s in the trees. Literally. Bouncing from branch to branch like a monkey until Dean sees those wings spread and then he’s above the trees and _gone_ and Dean doesn’t know what the hell just happened.

Even while clueless, something _warm_ is bubbling in his chest and it feels kinda (terrifying) _happy_. Did Cas mean that he wants Dean around? Does that mean that it’s okay if Dean visits more? Can he bring Cas books and the meat that he doesn’t get to eat a whole lot because the gathering is only once a year and he doesn’t kill stuff? Can he come out here once a month (or more) and actually get to _see_ Cas like he really wants to? Or did Cas mean something else entirely by it?

Those questions bother him for the two hours it takes Cas to get back. When he does, his feathers are still dripping from the lake and he looks about fifty times more tired than he did when he left.

“You weren’t up to snuff for that, were you?” Dean asks from the couch, sitting barefoot, cross-legged, and pretending to be reading one of his books. “You used too much energy on the table.”

Cas doesn’t even actually use words. He just grunts and goes around the table to the cave. Dean looks up to watch him drag a knee high pot back into the living area, recognizing it immediately as the one chock full of that waxy wing oil Cas gets from himself. He read up on oil glands on his phone once after a conversation with Cas, just to know something about it. Of course the Wikipedia article mentioned diddly squat on Angels.

Dean puts the book down and intervenes, taking the pot from Cas. “Go sit down. I’ve got this.”

“I can do it myself.”

He grabs Cas’s shoulder and turns him around, pushing him toward the couch. “You look like you’re about to pass out. Just go lay down, stretch out a wing, and let me take care of it.”

Cas staggers a few steps and gives him a glare that fizzles out to something that just looks _tired_. “But you don’t like touching the oil.”

“Yeah, and I’m the reason you wasted energy on the table and didn’t have enough to be okay after the lake. And I’m about eighty nine percent sure it was something that I did to make you run off earlier.” Dean shrugs and drags the pot next to the couch, gesturing for Cas to lay down on his stomach.

He hesitates before asking his next question because he fucking _hates_ having to ask questions like it. But with Cas, he’s learned over the last three months of talking, that it’s really necessary. Otherwise things just stay awkward between them and never get worked out and it’s just a topic they end up avoiding. And if he wants to come out here and visit more, they really can’t have something like that hanging over their heads.

“Are we gonna talk about that, by the way?”

Cas doesn’t even look at him, laying flat on his stomach, his face buried in Dean’s pillow. He even folds his arms around it and Dean is trying _really hard_ not to think that Cas is sniffing it or something. It’s hard to decide if that’s weirding him out or doing a little more to him than it has any right doing. At least Cas stretches his right wing out across the floor, just barely missing the table and the longest feathers brush the cooler under the window. His left wing stays folded up against his back, out of the way until its turn comes around.

“Do you think I’m mad or something?” He tugs lightly at a feather, trying to get at least _some_ kind of reaction out of Cas before he covers his hands in the oil and gets to work. All he gets is a twitch of the wing and what could be an actual _growl_ muffled into the pillow.

The oil feels weird as hell on his skin and Dean is happily pretending it’s something that doesn’t come from Cas. He’s also pretending that he’s not using it as one hell of an excuse to get to _touch_ Cas’s wings. It’s hard to believe that there are Angels who hate them. They’re big and goddamn gorgeous. He wasn’t lying when he told Cas he has the nicest wings he’s ever seen – glossy black feathers with just the right sheen of blue in the sunlight, and they’re soft as hell to touch.

Cas and his wings are the only things short of a bottle of Jack that have ever managed to really calm him down during a storm. That earns them a special place in Dean’s book and he’s going to take whatever chance he can get to touch them as much as he’s allowed. If that means having to slick his hands up with a weird, waxy oil that comes from little glands at the base of Cas’s wings, then so be it. He’s just never gonna tell Cas that his wings are the best security blanket pretty much ever.

Halfway through working down that one wing and Cas still hasn’t said anything. Dean sighs and tweaks another feather. “If you want me around, Cas, I can come around more.”

 _That_ gets a reaction. Cas’s wings shift slightly and when Dean looks up, Cas is watching him over the edge of his wing, only one eye peeking out of the pillow. He’s not saying anything, but those white-skirt flowers start springing up, following along the line of his wing.

“It’s kinda hard to carry on a conversation on my own, y’know.” He points out, shuffling a little further down the wing. Cas shifts it up more so he’s not kneeling under the table. “You’re going to have to talk at some point, otherwise I’m not going to know what you want.”

“Why?” Cas says softly, bunching up the pillow more to rest his chin on it. “Why would you want to come out here?”

Dean is maybe a little more forceful with raking his fingers through the feathers this time and Cas hisses quietly. “Sorry, but that was a fucking _stupid_ question. I like hanging out with you and it’s nice to actually _see_ you instead of just talking on the phone. More than half of how you talk is in your body language and is it really that hard to believe that I liked being here last time and I want to do it again?”

Cas shakes his head, still watching Dean with that stare that stopped being creepy before Dean left the first time. He doesn’t say anything again until Dean is done the wing and he’s flipped over to spread out the left one.

“I would like that.”

“Like what?” He’s pressing his luck here. Jesus, can he ever just _not_ do that?

“Visiting.” Cas’s voice is muffled by the pillow and he’s not doing anything to help with that. “If you visited more. I would like that.”

Okay, that’s awesome. That’s frikken _sweet_. Dean can do that. He can totally fucking do that and he’d high-five himself right now if his hands weren’t busy coating feathers. Now he just has to play his words right and he might be able to get exactly what he was hoping for – more time with Cas.

“As long as dad doesn’t call me up to start hunting with him again, I could come by once a month for a week or so.” He says it slow, testing the waters. “If you want, I could bring books, and meat, and other stuff that you can’t get out here all the time. I dunno what, but I could bring it. How’s that sound?”

Cas hums a noise, like he’s agreeing, and it takes Dean moving over a full foot of his wing before he realizes that Cas is asleep. He’s out cold and he’s out the entire time that Dean finishes his wing and manages to fold it up until it’s just drooping over Cas’s side while he’s snoring softly into the pillow – _Dean’s_ pillow.

“You better not drool on that.” He mumbles, moving away before he does something stupid like run a hand through Cas’s hair.

By the time his hands are washed and the oil jar is back under one of the ledges in the cave, Dean’s stomach is starting to rumble. He gets a pot of water boiling over the fire for some rice while he roots around for the things listed in the cookbook he’s kept hidden at the bottom of his bag. Before he left Sam’s yesterday, he’d had to sneak around the kitchen and prepare a couple things. He was planning on cooking the chicken tonight no matter what and they’ve been soaking in a brine the entire trip.

Cas doesn’t wake up until the chicken is almost done, the rice long finished and just waiting for the rest to be. There’s a pan taking up half the grill, a sauce simmering in it made up of what little vegetables and seasonings he could recognize.

“Welcome back to the world of the living.” Dean calls over his shoulder, looking away from the chicken long enough to nearly have a heart attack when he finds Cas already starting to kneel beside him. “Supper should be ready in a few minutes.”

Again, no answer. Cas just takes the spoon for the sauce and stirs it a bit. He uses his finger to swipe some of it off the spoon and has a taste. He makes that humming noise again and Dean shrugs, gesturing at the pan. “If you want to touch it up or add to it, go ahead. It’s my first try.”

“It’s good, but it needs –” He disappears into the cave for a few minutes before coming back with some more spices. After he adds more water and mixes in the stuff with some flour to thicken it, Dean has to admit that Cas totally made it better.

They eat sitting by the fire and Cas promises to grow some stumps as stools in the morning around the table. It takes too attempts to eat the hot food with his fingers before Cas finally lowers himself to use one of the utensils that Dean brought in his bag. Dean doesn’t waste a moment of teasing him for it. After supper, Dean cleans up while Cas does everything he didn’t do today – specifically, making sure that he has everything that he needs to take with him tomorrow.

While Cas putters around packing and unpacking things Dean stretches out on his bed with his book and a reading light, and tries really hard not to notice how the pillow smells like Cas now. After the first few times he offered to help and nearly got smacked with a wing for it, Dean decided his bed was the safest place to be. They talk about the book Dean’s reading and he ends up spending more time telling him about how awesome dystopias are and why he loves them than he actually does reading it.

It’s dark out by the time that Cas is done and Dean is on the verge of passing out on top of his sleeping bag. He drove all night to get here in the morning, and even though he slept most of yesterday to prepare for it, he’s still tired as hell now.

“You can go to sleep if you want.” Cas calls down from up in his nest after the fourth yawn. He’s taking apart some pieces of his bed for some reason that has to do with using it to build a shelter while he’s at the gathering. “Silvanus will be arriving early and I don’t doubt he’ll notice you’re here.”

Dean groans and rolls over, squirming to get into the sleeping bag without getting up. “I don’t want another t-rex wakeup call again. He nearly made me shit myself last time.”

“At least he’s effective.”

Still doesn’t mean that Dean doesn’t hate the Ent wannabe for it.

Once he’s actually in the sleeping bag, Dean wiggles out of his jeans and tosses them toward his backpack. His shirt follows it and he ends up face down like Cas was earlier. He’ll trick himself later into thinking that it’s because this is more comfortable and not because the pillow smells like Cas. He thinks about brushing his teeth, but that requires getting up and walking around in his underpants and yeah, he’s just not going to bother. He’ll deal with fuzzy feeling teeth in the morning.

Somewhere between falling asleep and waking up, Dean thinks he might have asked Cas if he’ll ever tell him about his disgrace. If he did ask it, and if Cas answered, he really doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to actually ask in case he only dreamed it. He doesn’t want Cas leaving for a week pissed off at him for prying into something he _knows_ Cas is beyond uncomfortable talking about.

Surprisingly, he’s awake before Cas is. He even has bacon sizzling in the pan and some bread toasting on the grill by the time Cas hops down and stretches. Dean’s not sure if he appreciates or hates that Cas is fully dressed this time around. Cas piles rice on the toast, pours barely reheated sauce on top, and lays strips of bacon over it. He eats it carefully while he’s checking the ropes that hold the mats together and Dean’s not sure if he’s even paying attention to what he’s eating. At least that’s what he thinks before Cas comment that the bacon tastes great and he appreciates that Dean went out of his way to find meat that he’s comfortable eating.

When he goes to start growing stump-stools for the table, Dean waves him off. “I’ll be the only one here for a week, I don’t need ‘em. Grow them when you get back.”

Silvanus shows up not long after they’ve moved everything outside and Dean _doesn’t_ automatically place Cas between them the moment Captain Cruciferous thumps into the clearing. He just had to step over here anyway. The light’s better. It’s totally not because Silvanus starts growling and roaring as soon as he spots him and Dean damn near makes a break for inside when he actually fucking _charges_ at them. It takes Cas spreading his wings and arms and _shouting_ in Enochian to get Silvanus to back down.

Dean takes a few cautious steps up next to Cas when Silvanus finally grumbles and drops down low enough for Cas to start strapping things to him. “Is he going to bite me if I help you load your stuff?”

The growl is all the answer he needs and Dean is one hundred percent fine with carrying things over to Cas and staying away from the tree bark face with the nasty looking teeth. It doesn’t mean that Silvanus doesn’t try whipping him with his tail more than once and it’s takes more sharp words from Cas to make him finally stop.

It still feels way too soon by the time Cas gets everything tied into place. Dean tries to remain nonchalant, keeping his hands in his pockets so he won’t have another hug incident like yesterday, when Cas turns to him. Cas’s wings shuffle against his back and he looks like he’s – what the hell is he looking worried for?

“So, I’ll see you when you get back?” Dean tilts his head, catching Cas’s eyes and giving a hopeful smile.

The worry leaves and purple flowers – they started with a ‘d’, didn’t they? – grow around their feet. Silvanus snorts and starts stomping on the ones that get close to him. Dean would ask, but he knows Cas isn’t going to answer. Cas’s wings curl higher over his shoulders, feathers fluffing up like he’s embarrassed and trying to hide behind them.

He touches at a pouch hanging from his hip. “Since the chances of someone noticing are high, I don’t suggest using it like we have been. But if something happens, or you have to leave –” Cas stops and his expression closes off.

“Dude, is the phone in that?” Dean gestures at the pouch, a grin pushing its way onto his face. “That’s sweet. Yeah, if I accidentally set fire to the place or something, I’ll call. Here, let me put my new satellite phone number in there. You won’t be able to reach me on my other phone while I’m up here.” It doesn’t even take a whole minute before he’s handing the phone back to Cas.

“And if you need to talk or anything, you call me. Deal?” He leaves his hand out and immediately, silently, curses his arm for doing it. He’s been _really_ good at not touching Cas since the thing with the wings yesterday and now his body is betraying him like Lando did to Han.

Cas looks down at his hand before he fits their palms together, thumbs hooking. It’s like lightning dancing up his bones and it feels like his whole arm goes numb. Dean barely stops himself from jerking his hand away as Cas squeezes his fingers. The thought doesn’t even really cross his mind, actually. Everything else is focused on the little smile again – the same one that’s been peeking around bites of food and turning up the corners of his eyes when he thinks Dean’s not looking.

“Deal.”

Dean stays outside, leaning against the curved entrance of the lair and watches while Cas climbs up into the space left on Silvanus’s back. Cas waves and Dean lifts his hand to wave back, not going inside until they’re completely out of sight.

They don’t call each other the whole five days that Cas is away. Dean wants to. More than once he picks up his phone and stares at speed dial three for the phone that Cas has. He goes for a walk every morning and afternoon to check the garden and make sure the weird little blanket-fence Cas put up isn’t torn down or anything. A few times he takes a bath in the lake, using the soap root stuff Cas has because that’s probably better for the environment than the shit Dean has in his bag. He uses the rest of the veggies in the root cellar and tries out what limited recipes he can with the stuff that he’s got, taking a moment at one point to write down a reminder to find a cookbook for hippy forest dwellers or something. He only goes to town once and that’s after the first day so he can stock up on food he’ll eat and save all the hippy food for when Cas gets back.

Dean plays games on his laptop and makes notes about designs for everyday things, and adds to his file devoted to weapons that could use improving. He finishes the first book he brought and he’s half way through the second when Cas does finally come back not long after Dean finishes eating supper on the fifth day. But he’s not the same Cas who left. The Angel who slides off Silvanus back – and Silvanus not growling at Dean when he comes outside to welcome them back should have been his first tip off – is the same Angel that Dean first met months ago.

Cas is hard faced and he’s wound so tight that Dean’s sure he’s going to pop something any second. He barely even acknowledges Dean, just gets right to untying the knots keeping all the bags tied to Silvanus. Going by the severe lack of mats, Dean hopes that at least Cas got to trade for all that he wanted. But that doesn’t explain why he’s got a stick up his ass again and why, the moment the last bag is on the ground, he points at the forest and tells Silvanus to go.

At least, that’s what Dean thinks he said. It’s hard to tell when Cas is only talking in Enochian. What _isn’t_ difficult to hear is the outright _anger_ in his voice. Hell, he’s damn near _snarling._ It’s enough that Silvanus actually hunkers down and his tail is low, nearly tucked between his legs. The wooden face is a curve ball when it comes to reading emotions, but Dean’s almost positive that he actually looks… worried?

“Hey, you don’t have to send him away like that.” Dean keeps his voice soft. He knows a ticking time bomb when he sees one. “It’s not like Sil is being mean to me or anything.”

His wing snaps out fast enough that Dean nearly ends up on his ass trying to stagger out of its way. “Don’t talk about what you don’t know.” Cas hisses over his shoulder and then he’s back to directing smite-levels of rage at Silvanus. “Do your duty and return when you can hold a civil tongue.”

Neither of them actually moves until Silvanus’s giant frame gets lost in the trees. How something that big can just melt away into the foliage is beyond Dean, but he thinks it probably has something to do with Angel powers. Either way, he’s not asking. The last thing he wants is to have Cas bite his head off like that too. Even though it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. As soon as Silvanus is out of sight, some of the tension leaves Cas’s shoulders. When he turns around, he doesn’t look as angry, but he definitely doesn’t look like the Cas that Dean’s gotten to know.

“Did something happen?” He tries next, testing the ice.

Cas looks at him and there’s _pain_ written all over his face. Normally his expressions are subtle – little shifts in his eyebrows, or his eyes, or the lines of his mouth. This one is so blatant that Dean damn near hugs him again. Something sharp twists behind his sternum and there’s a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He decides he fucking _hates_ seeing Cas look like that. Someone, somewhere, put that look on his face and for the first time in his life, Dean actually feels the homicidal urge his dad’s been trying to beat into his head since John started hunting.

“What happened, Cas?”

“The gathering.” And that’s all he gets.  Cas starts dragging everything inside and piling it against the same wall everything had been by before he left.

Dean helps, but he’s more interested in answers. “What happened at the gathering? Did they say stupid shit to you? Did they _do_ something to you? Was it Silvanus?”

Cas doesn’t say anything. He just tosses the last bag onto the pile and kneels by the table. Dean recognizes the spreading of his wings and the blue light under the feathers. Ten minutes later and there are two stumps on opposite sides of the table. One facing the cave, the other facing the entrance to the lair. That doesn’t even slow Cas down.

He’s like a mini-whirlwind moving through the place. Ducking into the cave to come back out with two clay cups that he nearly slams down on the table. Dean is left standing there like an idiot, watching uselessly while Cas throws tinder on the fire and starts rooting around in the bags for something. That something, as it turns out, is a wineskin. The biggest fucking wineskin that Dean’s ever seen. It looks like it could easily fit the contents of a whole bottle of wine, with room to spare.

“I didn’t know you drink.”

Cas sits down heavily with his back to the cave and pulls the stopper out. “Only after a clan gathering. Sit, Dean.”

He does and accepts the cup that gets poured for him. At least Cas has the courtesy of explaining what it is before Dean even takes a sip. On the other hand, Cas is already starting to pour his third cup by the time he’s done talking and all Dean’s managed to get from the explanation is that it’s some kind of potent wine. It tastes a little fruity, and wine isn’t really Dean’s preferred drink, but Cas is feeling like shit and there’s no way he’s going to let him drink alone.

That doesn’t mean that he’s going to go through it as fast as Cas is. But by the time Cas actually starts _drinking_ the third cup, he’s mellowed out some. Except he’s stopped talking and he’s staring down at his cup like it might hold all the answers. Dean knows what kind of answers he’s going to find in there and he really doesn’t like seeing Cas take this road. It feels wrong.

Cas starts talking before he gets to his fourth cup. He talks about the gathering and how this year the children came to throw stones at the ‘black-winged harbinger’. Dean nearly cracks the cup in his hands when he hears that. Cas talks about how Balthazar, the Angel who helps him trade his mats, is barely able to talk to him without getting dirty looks from the rest of the clan. And he listens to Cas go on about his disgrace – though he never says _what_ it was exactly – and how he’s being punished for it worse than others who’ve made the same mistakes just because he has black wings.

Dean can barely finish the one cup he’s got in his hand, he’s so fucking _angry_. If other Angels have made the same mistakes before, why the hell is Cas getting the short end of the stick just because he’s got the best wings in the clan? That’s not fucking _fair_. There’s probably more for him to be angry at, but by the time Cas is pouring his fifth drink, he’s back to ranting – Cas. _Ranting_. – in Enochian. Dean just sort of hmm's and uh-huh's his way through it, drinking his serving a lot slower and with a whole lot more food in his belly than Cas seems to have.

By the time he does get to the bottom of his first cup, he’s already starting to feel the effects. Normally it would take him a half dozen beers to start getting tingly in his fingers. Cas fills his cup the moment it’s done and by then his hands aren’t steady enough to hold it straight and Dean needs to hold the bag so wine doesn’t end up all over the table. 

There's no way that Cas is going to get up to his bed when he can't even talk in a different language, let alone see straight. He keeps missing his cup when he reaches for it and he blinks way too much, squinting at Dean like he's hard to make out when he’s not even sitting five feet from him. When Cas starts pouring his sixth cup, Dean is halfway through his second and he stands up, reaching across the table to catch Cas by the wrist. He pulls the cup and the wineskin away, and he’s not exactly happy with how light it feels.

"Yeah, that's enough for you now."

Cas’s response is lost in a jumble of harsh syllables and Dean doesn't bother trying to figure them out. He only knows so many Enochian words and none of them are the ones he said right then. He guides Cas around the table, keeping him upright whenever he over balances or stumbles, and leads him to the sleeping bag. It’s gotten later than Dean realized and it’s darker than it should be, but they manage. Dean will just go and sleep in the impala tonight, or something, while Cas crashes in his bed - which was technically Cas's 'couch' to start with.

They’re almost there when Cas breaks away from him and stumbles toward the fire. In the time that they’ve been drinking, it’s burned down to next to nothing. He reaches for a handful of the grass piled by one of the tree-stands and Dean is on him in seconds, pulling him away from the pit.

“Whoa, Cas, no. No way in hell am I letting you anywhere near that with those gigantic fire hazards on your back.” The last thing he needs is for Cas to burn himself while he’s drunk. Cas shakes him off but Dean puts himself between him and the fire. “If you want at it, you’ll have to go through me first.”

The glare he gets is weak at best and Cas turns away with a huff. A blue glow starts under his feathers again and Dean tenses, waiting for whatever he’s going to do. He really can’t help the laugh that bubbles up when Cas waves a hand at the wall above the couch and little mushrooms start to grow. Each new batch just seems to be making Cas more and more frustrated, his wings twitching and shuffling against his back. Dean has to resist reaching out and touching in some sort of an attempt to soothe them.

The blue light gets brighter and Cas actually _growls_ , gesturing at the wall sharply. Dean’s laugh cuts off as the tiered, glowing mushrooms like there are in the cave spread up the wall like wildfire. It gives half the room a soft green light, while the other half has the red from the dying fire. It’s… nice. He likes it. Or he does for the two seconds before Cas goes for the wineskin again. Dean intercepts and redirects him toward the couch.

"I don't want you strangling yourself with that thing while you're sleeping." Dean points at the loop around Cas's neck that attaches to his wrap. "Off with it."

Cas rocks in place. He looks down slowly at his wrap and then back up at Dean. Something _new_ shifts in his expression. Something Dean's never seen before. He doesn't even know how to describe it. Surprise and anticipation? Something a little nervous? Like all his birthdays came at once? He doesn't know but then Cas is almost _rushing_ to get the straps and strings of his wrap undone. Dean ignores it and goes behind him to undo the cord that keeps the neck-loop in place, helping Cas out of it and keeping his eyes above Cas’s shoulders the whole time. He dumps the wrap on the table and counts to ten before looking back at Cas and the miles of skin he knows is going to be showing.

He really should have thought this through, especially considering the wine in his system.  

When he turns around Cas is starting to undo the goddamn qaa-cloth, fingers fumbling with the knot at his hip. Dean is already doing his damnedest to ignore the long stretch of tanned legs and the thighs he's actually been _dreaming_ about putting his mouth on and covering in little bites and sucking bruises. Taking off anything more would be fucking _torture_.

"Whoa, cowboy, what are you doing?" Dean pulls Cas's hands away from his hips, standing closer than he has any right standing, considering he's verging past tipsy and Cas is the Angel equivalent of drunk. "You keep that on. C'mon, get in the bed."

Cas blinks at him and he kinda swings forward a bit. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd think Cas was leaning in for a kiss. But he _does_ know better. Cas said it himself – he’s never been interested in anyone before and Dean would’ve noticed by now if Cas had a thing for him, right? Besides, he’s a Human and Cas is an Angel. And this – this is probably just Cas having trouble staying upright. Dean puts his hands on Cas’s shoulders to guide him to sit down on the sleeping bag, trying to keep him from just flopping back and hurting the joints of his wings.

"Dean…” Cas murmurs his name, arms coming up and around his shoulders and _tugging_ before Dean can stop him from doing it.

He curses under his breath as Cas pulls him down with him. Dean barely manages not to land on Cas's wings, but his knees ache and his wrists hurt, landing in probably the most painful way possible to keep himself from falling right on Cas. That's _way_ too much contact to have with him - especially when neither one of them is really in their right mind and Cas is damn near _naked_. At least he’s straddling one of Cas’s legs instead of having actually fallen between them. A blessing in disguise, right?

Wrong.

"Goddammit, Cas. What did you do tha...t-" His mouth snaps shut the moment he looks up and sees just _how_ Cas is looking up at him - eyes hooded with so much _heat_ , mouth open, cheeks flushed with the wine. It makes Dean's throat go dry and he licks his lips out of habit. Little red flags are throwing a fucking party in some corner of his mind, but it sounds really far off right now.

"Dean." Cas says again, followed by a jumble of words Dean doesn’t know.

Okay. He’s going to correct himself now. Because there is _no fucking way_ he could possibly mistake this for what it is. And that answers the question of whether or not Cas finds him sexually appealing. Something tickles his foot and when Dean glances down he sees the flowers covering the floor. There are cones of little purple flowers, and the white flowers that he’s seen Cas grow before that look like one big one made up of little tiny ones. They're spreading out across the floor and up the walls and Dean really doesn't know what they mean, but they've got something to do with Cas's emotions.

" _Dean_." Cas says his name again in that stupid, _wrecked_ voice that does things that it has no business doing to Dean's insides and specifically to a very certain part of his anatomy.

And then Cas's arms get tighter, pulling him down closer and Cas lifts his head and okay, wow, he's totally squinting at Dean's mouth right now. It would be so fucking easy to kiss him like he’s been kinda fantasizing about since before he even left here the first time and if Cas freaks in the morning - if he even remembers it - Dean can pass it off as them just being drunk. Hell, he can even claim that it's a pretty common thing to happen between drunk friends.

"Dean." Cas murmurs and there's just so much fucking _emotion_ behind his name and the Enochian words that follow it. He has no idea what they mean and he doesn't want to think that they might be "stop being a fucking idiot and kiss me already" because if he's wrong he could fuck up everything that they've got going on.

But the longer Dean resists, the more Cas's eyes are sliding shut and his arms are getting looser. He's falling asleep and Dean isn't sure if he's happy or not about that. He tries sitting back more on his knees - ignoring the casual way he's just _straddling_ Cas's leg, and no, fucking _no_ he is not going to look down again and notice that Cas is fucking _hard_ in that stupid fucking loincloth.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. This is _not_ how today was supposed to end.

He needs to move, he needs to get up and not be sitting here trying to untangle Cas's arms from around his neck and he sure as fuck shouldn't be letting Cas try to grind against the leg he’s got between his legs and Cas _really_ needs to stop moving the leg he’s got between _Dean’s_ legs.

"Goddammit Cas..." He hisses and leans forward on his hands again above Cas's shoulders, digging his fingers into the pillow under Cas’s head while he tries angling everything away from what Cas is doing with his fucking hips. There’s no time to wonder when or how one of Cas’s arms relocated to his back or why he’s trying to paw his shirt up.

Cas says his name again and Dean looks down and there’s that look again. Would it really be that bad if he kissed him now? It might get Cas to let go. And it's not like Cas doesn't _want_ it. Every single body language cue that Dean knows is going off like fireworks telling him that _fuck yes_ Cas is all on board with the kissing - and maybe even more if Dean would just lay down and rock his hips a bit.

The way Cas licks his lips and arches his back really isn't helping at all and Dean is trying - oh god is he _trying_ \- not to give in. Cas is drunk. If Cas wants this then Dean should wait until Cas asks for it when he's _sober_. And if this just happens to be what kills him, then he'd like to ask that someone tell Sammy that he loves him and he's sorry for breaking his Power Ranger action figure when he was six.

This really isn’t the best time to let his thoughts wander. Especially since Cas is all drunk and half-asleep and trying with all he's got to get Dean to kiss him. Because the next thing he knows he's on his elbows and fucking _centimeters_ away from kissing Cas.

"Cas. You need to let go." Baseball. Think of baseball. Basketball. Fucking _hockey_. No, this requires the big guns. This requires thinking of Bobby and John in banana-hammocks.

"Dean." Cas breathes his name and the Enochian words he keeps saying after it and Dean is almost _certain_ he can feel the syllables being formed against his mouth.

 _Fuck_.

Dean kisses him.

He's going to fucking _hate_ himself for this later, but he kisses him. And it's not gentle. It's full of frustration and _want_ and Dean kisses Cas hard, pushing him back into the sleeping bag and pillow and licking possessively into that goddamn _distracting_ mouth. He fists Cas's hair and pulls, forcing his head back and his chin up and he _takes_.

A thousand different sounds - muffled groans, stifled moans and cut off words – fill the space between the slick spit-slide of the kiss. Dean can practically _taste_ the inexperience around the bitter sweet tang of the wine as Cas struggles to not only keep up, but stay awake. His hands slide down to cup Cas’s jaw and the side of his neck, the air cool on his back where Cas is pulling his shirt up and Dean can feel Cas’s other leg hooking over his hip, heel digging into the small of his back.

It takes a while before Dean pulls back with a light bite to Cas’s bottom lip. Cas's arms fall away as he moves away, his breathing still heavy despite losing the battle to sleep. Dean takes a moment to roll him onto his side and get his wings settled properly so nothing will be sore or fucked up in the morning. He gets to his feet and finds a blanket to put over Cas. He slumps down at the table, fully intending to finish the wine, or down as much of it as he can before he doesn't feel so fucking guilty. Before he doesn't remember how Cas had been moving under him, searching for the friction he needed that Dean didn’t give because he already crossed one line tonight. Before he remembers how Cas's lips are red and swollen and just begging for Dean to go back and kiss him awake and finish what they started.

He passes out before the wineskin is empty, and it doesn't stop him from remembering in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s flowers…
>
>> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Orange Lily: desire (specifically: Cas’s desire to hug Dean back)  
> \- Snowdrop: hope  
> \- Delphinium: joy  
> \- Purple Lilac: first emotion of love  
> \- Coriander: lust  
> 


	17. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam interrupts like the bitch that he is. “Is this Cas the one you were calling all month?” He doesn’t even give Dean the chance to answer. “Don’t act surprised. You’re as secretive as a bull in a china shop, dumbass. We knew you were calling someone within the first week you were here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)
> 
> **Happy Birthday Misha! You're an inspiration to us all. Thank you for everything that you do. We love you!**

Note to self; never drink Angel wine again.

Addendum; don’t sleep on a tree-stool, face down on a tree-table or your back will fucking hate you for it in the morning.

Much like Dean’s back right now. And his head – Jesus Christ, his _head_ – what the fuck was in that wine to give him the mother of all hangovers? This beats out that one he had after new years the first year he turned twenty-one. Of course back then he wasn’t saddled with the granddaddy of all guilt monkeys on his back.

Fuck. _Cas_. How the hell is he supposed to face him when he gets up the energy to even just lift his head from the table? Dean’s not even sure he’s going to be able to look Cas in the eye after last night. It doesn’t matter that Cas was all for the kissing and doing his damnedest to make it happen – Dean wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be able to use that to clear his conscience. No, he’s fully aware of what he did and even if some of the details are blurry, he remembers _kissing Cas_.

He groans and lifts his head just enough to drop it back down and thump his forehead against the table. It does absolutely nothing to help his headache, but he fucking deserves it. Cas was drunk and Dean kissed him and he basically took fucking advantage of him and now he’s the scum of the Earth. It was fucking _awesome_ to kiss him after months of thinking about it – but Dean would’ve picked pretty much any other way he could as long as it meant Cas was sober and his inhibitions weren’t already out the proverbial window.

Shit. _Cas_. Does he have a hangover too? Can Angels even get hangovers? He may not be able to look at Cas, but the least Dean can do is make sure he’s okay and didn’t throw up or something. Can you even get throw-up drunk off of wine? He doesn’t care. Now that the worry has latched itself to his brain stem, if Dean doesn’t check he’s going to go out of his already pain-filled head.

It takes more effort than it should to shift enough that he can turn his head to rest his cheek on the table and look at the couch-bed. It’s a wasted effort because it’s empty and Dean really shouldn’t be working on knee-jerk reactions when all they do is make him nearly fall off a tree-stool when he sits up straight and looks around wildly. Also, _ow_. Mother of all hangovers was _not_ an understatement – Jesus, he’s going to be sick and there’s nowhere to be sick _in_.

No, Dean is a big boy. This isn’t his first rodeo and he just needs to breathe and get some water and a couple aspirin in him and he’ll be fine. Deep breaths, that’s the key. In, out, in, out.

Something falls over his shoulders when he takes a deep breath and it damn near gives him a heart attack. Turns out, it’s just a blanket. A very familiar one and he’s pretty damn sure that he didn’t have one when he fell asleep last night. Which means Cas covered him with it. Where the hell is he, anyway?

Dean gets up slowly, closing his eyes so nothing starts spinning or slanting and making him feel nauseated again. He manages to make it to the spring in the cave, snagging up a cup on the way, without falling on his face. The water is cold, clean and awesome and Dean drinks at least three cups before staggering back to the main room to find the bottle of pills in his backpack. It’s pretty obvious Cas isn’t here and he’ll check outside for him when he goes to take a piss. But first – _pills_.

Cas doesn’t show up by the time Dean’s back inside and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. For one, does Cas know? Does he remember what happened last night? Is he just out doing Angel business and left Dean here to sleep? There are too many questions and they’re making Dean’s head fucking _hurt_ more. And worst of all he can’t deal with that annoying, nagging, _paranoid_ feeling that Cas knows and that’s why he’s not here. He knows that Dean basically _violated him_ and he’s gone to get Silvanus to help him hide the body.

Goddammit, he can’t do this. Not right now. He needs more time to think and to stop hating himself. And there’s no way in hell that Dean is going to be able to face Cas with the hangover he’s got. No. He needs an out – he needs to _get_ out. There’s gotta be some kind of shitty excuse he can use, right? Yeah. Maybe he could buy himself a day with the claim that he needs to go buy some stuff in town so he can stay another week – because Dean doesn’t actually want to _go_.

The idea of actually just leaving Cas out here – when he’s barely gotten to spend a day hanging out with him – it adds to that growing panic pulsing under his ribs. But he can’t just _stay_. Not when he’s like this and not when even thinking about seeing Cas right now gives him that weird gonna-throw-up tight feeling in his throat.

It’s like he’s being torn in half and he hates it. Maybe not as much as he hates himself right now for taking Cas’s first kiss like a jackass. He just – he just needs time to _think_. To get over that hate before he can even think about facing Cas and what he’s going to say or do or who the fuck even knows – he just can’t stay here. Not right now.

And that’s the entire reason he’s on his knees and shoving all his shit back inside his bag when Cas walks in and Dean’s stomach and heart decide to do the unhealthy thing and jump ship together.

“Dean?” Cas sounds surprised – sounds _worried_. “Are you leaving?”

He doesn’t blame him but he also can’t look at him – not even when he moves to start rolling up his sleeping bag, wrapping it around his pillow. “Sorry, but I got a call from Bobby last night about my dad.” Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

“Is he alright?”

“I don’t know.” Dean shakes his head and regrets it when it makes his vision swim. “He just said to get out to his place as soon as I can.”

Cas doesn’t say anything and that just makes Dean want to _look_. He knows Cas sure as hell isn’t smiling, but he doesn’t want to see that same worried look he had before he left to the gathering – he doesn’t want to see that _sad_ because he’s going to be left alone again. It makes Dean feel even worse and fucking deserves it for what he did last night.

“I’ll help you carry your things.” Cas’s voice is soft and Dean can _hear_ that disappointment in it. Even if it’s all his fault he needs to at least do something so Cas won’t be like that anymore, so he’ll at least know Dean is coming _back_.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll just take my backpack and sleeping bag.” He swings the hiking pack on, shoving his arms through the loops with more force than really necessary. “Is it okay if I leave the cooler and the duffle for now? I’ll get them the next time I visit.”

That makes Cas’s voice change, it gets lighter and Dean would suspect a smile is probably in there somewhere and fuck does he want to look up and see it but he _can’t_. Just the thought of looking at Cas right now makes his stomach twist and that tightness pulls up in his throat again while a little voice in the back of his head calls him all sorts of mean names that he fucking deserves.

“I’ll walk you to your –”

No, fuck no. They need to get as far away from each other as they possibly can before Dean does something else incredibly stupid. Because now he knows what it’s like. Now he knows what Cas’s fingers feel like when they’re raking up his back and digging into his hair. He knows what feathers feel like when they’re curving up and around them and brushing against his sides. He knows what Cas’s goddamn mouth tastes like and the sounds he makes and what his skin feels like and –

“It’s fine. I’ll see you later.” Dean ducks past Cas without looking up and he can see one of Cas’s wings flare out and he hopes to hell he’s imagining that Cas just said his name again and that he’s totally imagining the _hurt_ he hears.

He makes it to the clearing before there’s a rustling and flapping noise and his heart drops to his shoes around the same time Cas drops out of the trees. Dean looks away the moment legs – those fucking _legs_ – enter his field of vision and he heads off the clearing toward where baby is parked. It’s another twenty minute hike and there’s no way Cas isn’t going to follow him but he needs to get _out_.

What he doesn’t need is Cas grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop. “Dean, wait.” Fuck. He still sounds worried. “Did I –” Cas stops and starts again. “Is this because of last night?”

Yes. “No.” Dean jerks his arm out of Cas’s hand and picks up the pace through the trees. “I have to go. Bobby and dad need me.”

Cas follows him, his voice dropping into a quiet question that Dean can only classify as sounding like ‘kicked puppy’ and it’s a damn good thing he’s not looking right now. “Did I do something wrong?”

Fucking _fuck_. This is going to kill him. He can’t do this to Cas, not after what he did last night. But it’s making him physically sick to even _think_ about what happened. There’s just shit he’s got to deal with himself before he can face Cas – like should he tell him what happened? Or does Cas already know? They’re going to have to talk about it and even with how much they’ve talked on the phone, Dean doesn’t do _this_ kind of talking. He just – he _doesn’t._ He’s not equipped for it.

Shit, but what if Cas _does_ know? What if he remembers and that really was what he wanted and now Dean acting like this is freaking him out and making him think Dean didn’t want it? Why does talking have to be so fucking necessary? Dean _hates_ it. He likes when they talk about normal everyday things, not the stupid important shit like this.

“No, Cas, you didn’t do anything wrong. I told you, Bobby called about my dad.” Dean tries to keep his voice steady, tries not to sound like he’s going to have a panic attack or throw up or something. “I’ll call and let you know what’s up as soon as I can. And I’ll be back when things get figured out. I promise.” He needs to do something so Cas doesn’t feel like shit about this and maybe a topic change is part of that. “How’s your head? You drank more of that stuff than me.”

“I’m fine. I had something to drink when I woke up and my powers fixed my headache.” Cas’s hand is on his shoulder again, pulling him back. “Does your head hurt? I could heal –”

The fear that flares in his chest is from two decades of living his life with the equation that angels and their powers are _bad_. It’s a knee jerk reaction for him to pull away and spin around. He doesn’t mean for his voice to go hard, or to sound so fucking angry when he’s _not_ – he’s just _scared_. “Don’t! Don’t you _ever_ use your powers on me!”

Turning around forces him to see Cas and there’s _surprise_ and _hurt_ written all over his face. He hasn’t shaved yet today and his hair is mess – like he woke up a little before Dean did and was just off using the washroom or something. But his wings are puffing up and curling over his shoulders and Dean did that. He snapped at Cas and he made him look like that and it makes something behind Dean’s sternum _ache_.

They don’t say anything more. Dean doesn’t give either of them the chance to. He turns around and he runs away  - from Cas, from this problem, from everything and he doesn’t stop running even when his head is pounding with every footstep or when each breath actually starts to hurt. Dean doesn’t even stop when he reaches the impala and fumbles with the keys.

He runs away until he’s pulling into the nearest town and pulling up in front of the first bar he finds. It’s not even noon yet and he knows it’s not open, but he’s just going to sit here and _breathe_ for a few minutes until he can pull himself together and maybe knock that burning self hatred down a few pegs.

x

Castiel doesn’t know what to do. The walk back to his salman is slow and all he can remember from it is the pain in his chest and the different coloured anemone flowers that had grown around every step.

When he woke up this morning, despite the pain in his head, he had felt better. Usually drinking doesn’t help with that. Usually it takes a few weeks for him to harden himself against the memories of the gathering.

But this time he hadn’t woken up passed out on the floor wherever he happened to drop. This time he woke up on the othil with Dean’s pillow under his head and a blanket pulled over him and _Dean_ had been right there, asleep at the table. For the first time after a gathering, Castiel didn’t wake up alone. He doesn’t remember what happened after he told Dean about Balthazar, but having him still be there when he woke up – just _there_ – made up for it.

He had wondered, while he covered Dean with the blanket and got dressed, what had happened. Last night was the first time he had ever been drunk around another person. And of all people, it had to be _Dean_. Castiel had gone for a walk to the garden while he thought about it and tried to remember. Of course he was worried that he might have said or done something that would make Dean uncomfortable. There are plenty of thoughts he has about Dean that he wouldn’t want to say out loud or act upon – though actually he _would_.

Now, as he brushes aside the vines and enters the salman, he can’t help but have the queasy sensation in his stomach that he _did_ do something. Why else would Dean have been in such a hurry to leave? Dean hadn’t even been able to _look_ at him, let alone barely even speak to him. And that secures the thought in his mind – Castiel must have done or said something.

Did he tell Dean that he finds him attractive? Or did he mention the confusing feelings that keep building in his chest? Did he admit that he liked the hug Dean gave him the first day that he had returned and that he wants to do it again? How do his powers come into it? That was _fear_ Castiel had seen in him before Dean ran away. Surprise and fear and something else that Castiel can’t name. He doesn’t know what to call the way Dean’s expression had crumpled before he’d turned away.

There are so many questions and the only person who can answer them is gone. Castiel still has the phone and he could call him. But Dean had told him once, during one of their many calls, that he doesn’t like using his phone while he’s on the road. And he had told Castiel – had _promised_ – that he would call later. Dean has never lied to him before. There’s no reason he should doubt him now.

But Castiel does and he hates every single yellow daffodil that blooms along the walls. Even though Dean left his cooler – the one he had spoken about enthusiastically while explaining how he and Bobby had worked on it – Castiel still has doubts that Dean will return. Just because Dean worked on it doesn’t mean he has any particular attachment to it. Castiel can spend weeks on weaving a mat and not have any attachment.

These thoughts plague him while he unpacks, taking apart the bundles and bags to put away all the supplies he bought. The fresh meat, wrapped carefully to preserve it, should be used as soon as possible. But Castiel has no desire to cook or eat. His movements are automatic and stiff. He’s only doing this because it needs to be done, though keeping his hands busy is doing nothing to keep him from wondering just what went wrong.

He puts the meat in Dean’s cooler, moving it into the sunlight for the batteries to charge. The phone gets placed next to the black panels on top of the cooler so it can charge too.

It’s afternoon by the time he’s done and Castiel still hasn’t eaten anything. There’s nothing that he wants to make or eat. The wineskin is still on the table and there’s another cup or two left in there, judging by the weight of it. Castiel finishes them off. It’s easier to get into his nest now if he stands on the table. As he curls in the net of vines and the few mats left covering them, he doesn’t even think about how he’ll have to raise the nest more to keep it safely out of reach of any animals that would be brave enough to try and come inside his salman. He doesn’t think about the blankets he left rolled on the othil and how he should have brought them up here to pad his nest again.

All he can think about is Dean and the flash of fear in his eyes, like he was scared of Castiel and the things he could do to him.

x

It’s raining by the time Dean stumbles out of the bar. It’s raining and it’s the dead of the night, and the goddamn bartender took his fucking keys. He can’t even get into the impala to sleep in the backseat – not unless he wants to break one of the windows and he’d sooner cut off his hand than do that. Dean pulls his jacket over his head for some kind of protection from the rain and some part of him, in the whiskey induced haze that is his brain, contemplates going back inside and letting the bartender call him a cab like he’d offered.

Fuck it. Dean deserves this. The cold and the rain, and if he gets sick from spending a night sitting out in this, then he damn well deserves that too. He deserves it for kissing Cas without his permission and for putting that wide-eyed, _sad_ look on his face. He deserves it for every dirty thought he’s ever had about the person who – up until yesterday – he’d started to think of as his best friend. Of course Sam is his best friend, but he’s also his _brother_ and that’s a whole different kettle of fish.

This is fucked up. No, _Dean_ fucked up. He should’ve just put Cas to bed and just not – he just shouldn’t have done that. He should have known better and it just – he fucking hates himself for it. For all of it. He shouldn’t have let Cas even start drinking. If he’d taken the wineskin away, they could’ve just sat and talked it out – which he would’ve hated because he doesn’t do that. That’s not him. Dean Winchester drinks his problems away and he’s a goddamn hypocrite for not wanting Cas to do that.

Ten minutes later and Dean is sitting on the impala’s trunk, soaked to the bone and shivering and he doesn’t care. Even drinking away all the money he pool sharked from the guys at the tables at the back of the bar didn’t make him forget or make him hate himself any less for what he did. And he doesn’t know what to do. Normally at a time like this, he’d call –

Fuck, yes! That’s what he should do.

Dean stumbles from the car and back under the awning out front of the bar, digging around in his pockets for his cell phone. It’s a bit damp, but he shakes it out and fumbles with the speed dial. It rings out and goes to voicemail, but Dean hangs up and tries again. His nose feels like it’s going to start running and there’s a tingle between his eyes. He muffles the oncoming sneeze into the crook of his elbow and hangs up when the call goes to voicemail again. He’s been sneezing for the last few days and he’s pretty sure that it all comes down to living a week in a tree house. It’s not like he has an allergy to pollen or dust or anything, but he’ll still put money down on that.

Third time’s the charm and the phone finally picks up. “Do you have _any_ idea what time it is, Dean? I have work in the morning, you jerk.”

It’s barely been a week since he saw him and hearing Sam’s voice still manages to lighten his mood a little. But not enough to make him forget why he’s calling. “Sammy, I need your help.”

That always gets Sam to pay attention. “What is it? Are you on a hunt?”

Jess must not be in the room. The last thing they ever bring up around her is hunting. She knows about it, but she goes off on Dean for his and John’s hunting habits worse than Sam does sometimes. “No, but I fucked up bad and I don’t know what to do.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end and Dean hears something that sounds suspiciously like the kitchen fridge opening. “Are you drunk?”

“No – yes – maybe a little. I can pretty much walk straight and talk straight, but the bartender still took my keys and that’s not the point. Sammy, just listen. Okay?”

“I’m listening.”

Dean squats in the dry space under the awning and the squat turns into a sit, his back against the wall. “I fucked up.”

“Yes, I got that the first time. _How_ did you fuck up?”

“I kissed Cas.”

Sam makes a choking noise and then he starts coughing. “Cas? I thought you and Cassie broke up years ago? You didn’t say you were seeing her again!”

“Not Cassie. _Cas_. Different person. Cassie is long gone. Cas is – Cas got back from some family thing and was pissed and got drunk last night and I didn’t drink as much but I got a little tipsy and –” Drunk as he is, Dean knows there’s a secret to keep in there somewhere. He can’t tell Sam that Cas is an Angel, but he can still dance around that one point. “Cas was drunk and I –”

Sam interrupts like the bitch that he is. “Is this Cas the one you were calling all month?” He doesn’t even give Dean the chance to answer. “Don’t act surprised. You’re as secretive as a bull in a china shop, dumbass. We knew you were calling someone within the first week you were here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

“We decided against it. You were trying to keep it a secret from us and you’ve got your reasons – however stupid that they are – and we were going to respect that. Especially since it’s only once in a blue moon that _you_ would make a friend that you would call every other day.”

Huh. Clearly Dean doesn’t give Sam and Jess enough credit. “Sorry.”

“Forget it.” He can practically _see_ Sam’s shrug. “Let’s get back to your story so I can get my ass back to bed before Jess yells at me. You kissed Cas while she was drunk?”

“He.” Dean hugs his knees to his chest and rests his forehead against them. “Cas is a dude.”

“Oh.” Sam takes a moment. “Does that change things?”

“No.”

“Okay. So, what happened?”

“It was his first kiss and he was drunk and I was tipsy and I’ve been thinking about kissing him for _months_ , Sammy. Literally. Months.” Dean thumps his forehead against his knees, screwing his eyes shut and hating the hazy memories from last night that float up in his current drunken brain fog.  “I met him before dad took off and we hung out for a week before I went back to Bobby’s. I haven’t seen him since and I went to his place when I left yours and we had one day to hang out because he had to leave for his stupid family thing and so I spent a week at his place and when he got back he got drunk and I got tipsy and I tried putting him to bed but he turned into a fucking octopus and dragged me down with him and fuck, Sammy, he was practically naked and trying like hell to get me to kiss him and he kept saying my name and –”

“Are you aware of how much you rant when you’re drunk?”

Dean groans and thumps his head against his knees again. “Fuck you, Sammy.”

Sam laughs and Dean can hear the fridge in the background again. “Let me guess, you were a chicken shit and ran off this morning without talking to Cas about what happened?”

His answer is a grunt.

“You dumbass.” Sam sighs again. “You spend more than a few hours a week talking to him on the phone. How is it that you can’t talk to him face to face about it?”

Dean shrugs and takes a minute to remember that Sam can’t see him. “I dunno. I’m not even sure that he remembers it or whatever. He didn’t act any different this morning.”

“If it was his first kiss and he was doing his damnedest to get it from _you_ , then the chances of your Cas acting like nothing happened sound kind of slim. I’m willing to put money on him not remembering.” Sam’s pauses for a second. “Jesus, Dean, please tell me you weren’t a jackass when you took off.”

“I can’t in good conscience say that I wasn’t a jackass.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“The biggest.” Dean sits back until his head thumps against the brick wall. “What do I do, Sammy?”

“You get your ass back to Cas’s place, apologize for this morning before he starts thinking you hate him or something – don’t even start trying to explain to me how you left – and find out if he does or doesn’t remember.” Sam’s voice goes hard and authoritative and Dean hates it when he gets bossy like this. “If he doesn’t, then you tell him and apologize. If he does, then you _still_ apologize. If it really was his first kiss, Dean, he deserves to know. Also, I hope to God you’re not macking on someone under age for that to have really been his _first kiss_.”

Dean snorts and damn near breaks out into real laughter. If only Sam knew. “No, he’s actually older than me.” By over a hundred years or something. “He’s just – he’s sheltered.”

“How the hell did you meet him then?”

“Happy accident.” Not quite, but he can’t tell Sam the truth. Not yet at least.

He knows the question is coming and he does nothing to distract from it. “Do you like him? And yes, Dean, I’m going the playground route here and asking if you _like-_ like him.”

Dean winces. He should’ve just changed the topic before Sam got to that one. That question makes him look at what he doesn’t want to look at. It makes him think about the tight, fluttery feeling he gets in his chest that feels a lot like happiness mixed with something terrifying whenever he picks up the phone to call Cas. It scares him.

When he doesn’t answer, Sam sighs. “You’re not going to give me an answer, are you?”

“I dunno.”

“Dean –”

“No, really, Sam. _I don’t know_. I mean, yeah, I like Cas. I wouldn’t call him so much if I didn’t, and he’s the closest thing to a best friend I’ve had outside of you in pretty much forever. I’ve talked to him more in the last few months than I have with Benny in the last few _years_.” Dean wants to run from admitting all of this, but it’s Sam. He’s not going to judge him, or patronize him, or make him feel stupid for things like this and it all just comes tumbling out. He runs a hand through his hair and watches the rain drip off the awning while he continues. “I like talking to him and he practically lives in a whole different world, but we never run out of things to talk about. Fuck, Sam, it was like Christmas came early when I managed to actually get a laugh out of him and don’t even get me started on his fucking smile. Y’know, I actually heard it before I ever saw it?”

Sam’s voice goes soft. “Dean.”

“Yeah?”

“Go tell him what happened, apologize, and ask him if you can kiss him for real.” He can hear the goofy grin in Sam’s voice and he’d smile, but he already is. Just talking about Cas like that made him fucking _smile_. “But first, get a taxi to the nearest motel, get some sleep and clean yourself up. Get over this and go back and tell him everything you just told me. It’s going to be like pulling teeth for you, but don’t you dare let this one get away.”

If this was such an easy thing to ‘get over’, a night of drinking should’ve done that easy enough. Normally he’s a happy drunk. But even this is weighing on him more than the first time he saw his dad kill an Angel. Maybe. Okay, no, not really. It had taken him a good few nights of drinking and leaving a string of broken hearts along the East coast to help him get over that. But he can’t do that this time. Dean’s pretty sure that a one night stand with a stranger will actually make him feel _worse_. They’re not the one that he wants.

“Go do it, Dean.”

He sighs and drops his chin to his chest, hand still in his hair. “I will.”

“Good. Call me once you two kiss and make up.” Sam’s stupid grin sounds stupid through the phone too. “Now that I _know_ you’re actually interested in someone, you damn well better tell me everything about him the next time we talk. And if you don’t, I’ll set Jess on you.”

“You’re such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one, jerk.” Sam’s laugh gets cut off midway by a yawn. “I’m going back to bed. If your courage takes a nose dive in the morning, call me and I’ll bully your ass into going back again.”

Dean’s smile makes a reappearance. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“It’s what I’m here for. Night, Dean.”

“G’night.” He waits for the line to go dead before he shuts the phone and tucks it back in his pocket.

The rain has let up a little, but he still doesn’t want to take a cab anywhere. Part of him hates leaving baby behind, and the other half hates himself and thinks he totally deserves to spend the night in the rain. Dean sits with his head in his hands until the bar starts to empty. By then the rain has let up more and he goes to sit on the impala’s hood, leaning back against the windshield and closing his eyes to the rain. If he can get past the damp denim and all his clothes sticking to his skin, then it kinda feels like a full body shower.

He’s out there until the bartender leaves. It’s his keys hitting him in the stomach that wake him from whatever nap he was having.

“If you’re not sober by now, you never will be.”

Dean grunts a thank you and gets some towels from the trunk to line the seat before he gets in. The nearest motel is a five minute drive and Dean pays cash. He hasn’t used one of his fake credit cards in months and as long as he’s got the money, he might as well actually _pay_. At least he manages to get out of the wet clothes before he crawls into the bed, muffling another sneeze or two. He should probably take a hot shower or something to warm up first, but now he’s just _tired_. If he’s going to face Cas tomorrow, then he’s going to do it with as much sleep under his belt as he can possibly get.

x

The last time Dean left, it took him nearly a full day to get to Bobby’s. When the time comes and goes that he should have arrived, Castiel wonders how long it will take for him to sort out the problem with his father before he calls again. It’s well into the night now and the rain outside, though soothing to listen to, has done nothing to help him sleep. He moved Dean’s cooler away from where the rain could get at it and left the coverings up. It will help to make his salman smell fresh when the showers have passed.

Although he suspects the rain will be around for a few days. If it continues beyond tomorrow, he’ll put let the covers down. For now, he’s hoping that watching the rain from his nest – now fully padded with blankets – while he picks at the bowl of blueberries in his lap will eventually lull him to sleep. The blueberries are the only thing he’s had to eat today and that’s only because he forced himself to.

The phone is next to him in his nest and Castiel has contemplated calling Dean. He still has questions about what happened yesterday and why Dean was so upset this morning. Dean never seemed scared of Castiel’s abilities before. On the contrary, he seemed impressed by them whenever Castiel grew anything. Maybe his reaction that morning was because Castiel did something with his powers the night before and it frightened him? Although he can’t think of anything like that that he would actually do, even while drunk.

Unsurprisingly, Castiel doesn’t sleep. The rain comes and goes throughout the next day, but Castiel barely leaves his nest. He wants to be productive and set up the frames to start replacing his mats, but he can’t find the will to carry out the want. He’ll need a whole new batch to cover the walls with for when winter comes and if he doesn’t get started on that soon, he’ll be behind. He can average a mat a week, but there are other duties to attend to and he doesn’t want to spend all day every day weaving.

Even with all that he has to do, Castiel can barely bring himself to get down from the nest for more food and water or to go outside to relieve himself. There is a heavy weight laying on his shoulders and a nagging voice in the back of his mind. It tells him that Dean isn’t going to call back. It tells him even if he does, he shouldn’t answer it. The voice tells him that he is a Hamiaah and Dean is a Hamibaghie and maybe Dean is realizing this now. Maybe it was all a plan to lower Castiel’s defenses and now, while he’s upset, the hunters will come.

Castiel can’t find that he cares. If that was Dean’s plan and he couldn’t see through it, then he deserves whatever fate it brings him. Not even thinking about how Dean left his things here and promised to return for them makes him feel better. All Castiel can think is that he deserves this. He said or did something while he was drunk that ruined it all and he never deserved any of it in the first place.

The clan was right.

At least by the time morning comes he’s managed to get at least a little bit of sleep. He wakes to the phone ringing somewhere in the blankets of his nest. By the time he finds it, the ringing has stopped. Castiel wants to call back and he nearly does. But if he does, then what? Are they going to talk? Will he find out what he did that made Dean have to leave like that? Even if he was telling the truth and he had to leave because Bobby called, there’s still the matter of what happened in the forest. Castiel had to have done something to him for Dean to have that kind of a reaction at the mere mention of helping him with his powers.

The phone rings a second time in his hands and Castiel doesn’t hit the green button. He’s scared of the questions and their answers. He’s scared of that nervous tightness in his chest that Dean will tell him to bring the cooler and the other bag to the place where he usually leaves his car because he doesn’t want to come back again. There are so many things that he’s scared of, so many things that he doesn’t want to lose, that he can’t bring himself to answer the phone. Not even when it rings for a third time several minutes later.

By the end of the day, the phone has trilled a total of nine times. When the forest beyond the entrance is finally dark, the phone is tucked in the bag Castiel uses for it and buried at the bottom of the vegetable hole in the back of the cave. He can’t hear it ring from there and if he can’t hear it, he can pretend it doesn’t exist. He can wrap himself in blankets and fold one of his wings over him and just listen to the gentle rain, waiting for a sleep that doesn’t come.

Silvanus arrives with the sun, though the heavy clouds that threaten more rain hide it. It’s been four days since Dean left and Castiel has barely moved, barely eaten, barely slept. He hasn’t even bathed since the day before he left the gathering, aside from the few times that he left the salman to relieve himself in the rain.

There seems little point to doing anything right now. It’s a feeling he’s used to having after a gathering and he can only hope that it passes within the week like it usually does. This time, however, it feels heavier. Not knowing what happened between him and Dean is a constant weight on his mind and his chest hurts whenever he thinks that he’ll never seen or talk to Dean again. The anemone have grown in every colour around the salman and his chest aches when he looks at them.

Silvanus sits back on his hind legs and manages to sit high enough to rest his chin on the interwoven branches that separate the entrance from the window in line with Castiel’s nest. Even with how little a response he gets, he spends hours trying to cajole Castiel to come outside and join him for a run. The rivers are running thick with the rain and they could use a cleansing, just like the lake. He reminds Castiel that he shouldn’t let his powers stagnate, but still he refuses to leave his nest.

**Qaal, what did the Human do? Did he hurt you?**

“No.” Castiel pulls his wing tighter over his shoulder, a shield he’s never used against Silvanus before. “I chased away my friend and now I’m sad. Leave me be.”

 **Don’t be sad. If the Human could not accept all of you, then he does not deserve your friendship.** Silvanus huffs and his leaves rustle. **Come to the cliff with me, Qaal. Come and fly while the rain doesn’t fall.**

Even the promise of flying does nothing to rouse him.

x

After the rainy night of hell, Dean wakes up well past noon with the inability to breathe through his nose. He makes a trip to the nearest drug store for some cold medicine and a box of tissues. It’s his own damn fault for spending half the night in the rain, but he’s still not taking any chances. There’s also no way he’s going to face Cas when he’s one sore throat away from sounding like Darth Vader.

He sends Sam a text while he’s soaking in a hot bath. It’s quick and to the point, letting him know that he _is_ going to go see Cas – but not today. Dean doesn’t exactly point out that he’s sick, but he hints at not wanting to face Cas with a hangover. Sam accepts that just fine and the rest of Dean’s day is spent lazing around the motel room in his pajama bottoms and a hoodie while watching reruns of Dr. Sexy on the shitty little TV and ordering in pizza.

The end of the day marks day two away from Cas’s place and he sets the motel alarm and the one on his phone to wake him early so he can call him. He doesn’t want to pull out the dreaded ‘we need to talk’, but he’s going to and he’ll tell him that he’ll be out as soon as he’s feeling better – which will hopefully be tomorrow or something. And if Cas asks about Bobby and John, he can claim it was a false alarm. Even thinking about lying more to Cas makes him feel worse.

The only kink in the plan that he wasn’t expecting was Cas not picking up the damn phone. After the fifth call, he’s out the door and into the rain again, ready to drive back up there and make sure Cas is okay. Dean can still remember that surprised hurt on Cas’s face and _he’s_ the one that put it there. He just has to let Cas know – by phone or in person, cold be damned, that it’s not his fault. None of it is. This is all Dean being a giant dumbass and he just needs Cas to know _that_.

He never actually gets into the car. Dean spends who knows how long in the rain again with his forehead on the roof of the car and the keys in his hands. His vision got blurry when he went for the lock and even if it’s all better now and he can see in pretty up close and personal detail every raindrop going down the window, it’s given his impulses a chance to calm down. If he can’t see straight after running from the motel, then he damn well shouldn’t be driving and there’s no way he’s going to risk his baby right now. But at the same time he wants to see Cas and make sure he’s alright and let him know that it’s okay – that _they’re_ okay. At least, sorta. Until they talk.

Fuck. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants to rewind three days and either stop himself from kissing Cas or stop himself from running the hell away. If he could do that, this would be great. Maybe he wouldn’t be sick either.

Speaking of, this rain is not helping that.

Dean calls Cas before and after his shower and periodically throughout the evening whenever he wakes up from dropping off in front of the TV. He keeps calling the next day too, even when he’s got a cough, his sneezes come every five minutes, and he’s pretty sure he’s developing a fever but he doesn’t exactly have a thermometer to check. He really should get one of those for the – for the – for that little white box kit thing that he keeps in the trunk of the car. Yeah. That thing. Fucking over the counter cold pills aren’t doing _anything_ and if he even breathes to Bobby or Sam that he’s got a fever, one or both of them will be out here as fast as physically possible.

Goddammit. He’d make another trek to the drug store, but that’s another walk up the street in the rain – even though it’s been coming and going all day, it’s not like he can predict when it will and won’t dump on his head. It’s too far and he doesn’t want to move. Not to mention that it’s fucking _cold._ He keeps shivering no matter how many layers he puts on or blankets he piles on the bed and everything keeps going in and out of focus.

The only thing his brain has latched onto is getting a hold of Cas. If he’d answer the fucking phone then he could do that and he could apologize and tell Cas what happened and promise he won’t do it again unless Cas wants him too because he really would like to do it again. Maybe he’d have to say that all telepathically though, because whenever he swears at the phone as the calls ring out, he ends up talking in a whole different language and that language is called _pain_. It feels like his throat is on fire and any words make it hurt and makes him cough and how the hell did one night in the rain cause _this_.

At some point, sleep happens. He knows that. But everything gets blurry for awhile. Dean only remembers certain points and nothing in between or what time it all happens. He remembers when the calls stop going through and either Cas figured out how to turn off the damn thing or the battery died and he remembers how that makes his chest go tight with panic.

Dean remembers throwing his bags into the car and cranking the heat. But all he can remember from the drive is that it gets _too hot_. There’s sweat on his forehead and creeping down the back of his neck and into his Henley where the rain didn’t get to. He doesn’t have a damn clue, when he finally stumbles out of the car and back into the light rain, how he got from Point A (the motel) to Point B (the rock-marked parking spot on the dirt road) without crashing into a tree, but later he’s probably going to hate himself for driving like this.

He leaves his jacket and his over shirt in the car with all his bags and probably the keys – since he can’t find them in his pockets while he's walking. If he ever makes it to the clearing, Dean doesn’t remember that either. It’s too hot, even in the rain, and it hurts to breathe or call Cas’s name. When the hell did the forest get so foggy and there are too many fucking trees. They’re everywhere and he’s not even sure if he’s lost or how long he’s been walking and all he can think about is if Cas is alright or not.

What if something happened to him? Did he get attacked by a bear? Or another hunter? Fuck, what if he fell out of that stupid nest and broke his neck or something? Dean should’ve been there to help him. He should’ve stayed with him instead of being a colossal douche and Cas should really answer the phone. Except Dean doesn’t have his phone. It’s in his jacket. At least he thinks it is. It’s so hard to fucking _think_ when it’s like the fog in the trees is in his head too and his breathing hurts – fucking everything hurts and he just wants to find Cas and say he’s sorry and make sure everything is _okay_.

But he feels so heavy and so tired and maybe he’ll just sit down to catch his breath. And that’s the last dizzying thought he has before that dark that’s been creeping up on the edges of his vision just swallows everything. That’s his last thought, but the last thing he sees is a blue glow between the trees. The last thing he hears is a low, steady, familiar growl.

x

It’s evening when Castiel finally gets up. He eats some more fruit, a few berries and an apple, before heading out into the rain. Silvanus is ecstatic to see him up and about, and he gives him privacy while he relieves himself. The rain is refreshing. It’s light and almost misty, soaking into his feathers and making them feel heavier.

 **Stay outside.** Silvanus insists, placing himself between Castiel and the entrance as soon as he’s finished. **Cleanse yourself with the rain. Your body and your mind.** He nudges Castiel away from the salman, forcing him toward the center of the glade.

“You are very persistent.” He shoves Silvanus away, but works at removing his wrap instead of returning inside. The fur gets matted and heavy in the rain and Castiel prefers to move without it. He’s naturally resilient to the cold and his powers will ensure he doesn’t get sick.

Castiel ducks back into the salman to hang his wrap from the vines of his nest to let it drip dry. Getting dressed was the only thing he did every day since Dean left and he’s not even sure why. Perhaps it was the dying hope that if Dean returned, he wouldn’t be uncomfortable. He has noticed that Dean has a harder time looking at him when he’s wearing only the qaa. Though it makes no sense to him. He has nothing to be ashamed about regarding his body and they’re both males, so why does it matter?

When it comes to the rain, Silvanus is like a child. His laughs are loud and huffing as he rolls in the mud and the puddles, splashing around and making a mess of himself. Castiel sits in the center of the clearing, meditating and trying to bring focus to himself. Silvanus is right to suggest using the rain to wash away the negative thoughts that plague him. He was alone before Dean and he can be alone again after him.

And Castiel can just learn to ignore that ache behind his ribs and the confusing, frightening feelings that have settled in his heart over the last few months. Time heals all wounds and he’s sure that it will do the same for this too. It’s just how long it might take that worries him.

It is always unexpected with the forest speaks. It’s never with words, but rather a feeling that feeds through the ground and the very air feels thick with the ancient voices of the trees. The forest is nervous, worried. Something important, something _precious_ is in danger. With his wings weighed with water, and the skies filled with rain,  Castiel can’t fly safely. It would require a good stretch and shake for his feathers to dislodge the water, but it’s been more than a week since he coated them in oil and their waterproofing is subpar right now.

All he needs is a gesture of his hand for Silvanus to go ahead. Castiel runs, wings tucked tight to his back. Silvanus will run faster without him on his back, and after four days in his nest, he needs the exercise. If something is truly in danger, Silvanus is more than capable of protecting anything.

The forest leads the way, the trees growing more excited with every step Castiel takes in the right direction. Through his connection with Silvanus, surprise flares sharply and he redoubles his speed, vaulting over logs and roots. The very last thing Castiel expects to see when he breaks through the trees is Silvanus standing over Dean, protecting him from the rain as he lies on his stomach, shivering hard enough that Castiel can see the tremors in his limbs from here.

White heather blossoms in thick patches all around them, spreading up the trees as Castiel sprints the last distance between them and falls to his knees in the space that Silvanus provides. He doesn’t need to touch Dean's forehead to know the signs. He's flushed with fever and his breathing harsh, almost painful to listen to. Worry fills Castiel where hurt and confusion had been. The weight lifts from his mind because _Dean came back_ , but it is replaced with a new one - he's so  _sick_.

Silvanus crouches next to him, voice steady and hard – just what Castiel needs to break the panic clogging his mind. **We need to get the Human back to the warm and the dry of home. _Now_.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s Flowers....
>
>> \- Anemone: forsaken/abandoned  
> \- Daffodils: uncertainty (also, unrequited love)  
> \- White heather: protection


	18. Safe and Unguarded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It takes a few tries of pressing the cup to Dean’s lips, but he does eventually drink the water in long, greedy gulps. Dean slumps against his side when he moves the cup away, his head dropping to Castiel’s shoulder with another little noise that sounds likes his name again. It makes Castiel’s throat go dry and he nearly misses the cup when he pours the water again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Dean is soaked and warm to the touch. Too warm. Castiel tries to keep his breathing steady, he tries to keep himself calm as he pulls Dean into a sitting position. He’s limp, head lolling and he’s unresponsive. It sends another another sharp spike of worry through Castiel.

How long as Dean been out in the rain? He’s well past the salman and if his car is where he usually stops it, then he might have been out here – No. Now isn’t the time to figure that out. There are more important things to do. He needs to get Dean home, out of these wet clothes,  and get his fever down.

With Dean’s arm around his shoulder and a firm grip on his waist, Castiel stands and pulls him to his feet. He leans him against Silvanus’s side, grateful when Silvanus moves his leg back so his elbow pins Dean in place. Even still, Castiel keeps on hand on Dean’s shoulder while he pulls himself up into place on Silvanus’s back, just behind the spires of wood that rise up to form the bridge between his body and his neck.

The quiet noise that Dean makes when Castiel pulls him up makes even Silvanus go still. It wasn’t a sound as if he were in pain. It sounded more like Castiel’s name, or at least the shortened version of it that Dean always calls him. Dean says it again, though it’s nearly lost in a hacking cough that makes Castiel wince and his chest aches in sympathy as and Dean’s whole body shakes with the effort.

He arranges Dean so he’s sitting like him, his back to Castiel’s chest, his arm firmly locked around Dean’s chest and the other buried in the vines before them to hold them in place. With his wings arched up and forward, Castiel forms a dome of feathers above Dean’s head to shield him from the rain as best as he can, keeping the primaries slanted down to minimize the drag as Silvanus starts a smooth gait through the forest.

There are more coughs and mumbled words that Castiel can’t hear throughout the quick trip. When they arrive, Silvanus stops as close to the entrance to the salman as he can get and Castiel slides from his back with practiced ease. He pulls Dean down after him, cradling him in his arms. Dean probably wouldn’t appreciate being held like this, but it’s easier to carry him than it is to try and make him walk while he’s barely conscious. Castiel manages a quick word of thanks to Silvanus before he ducks inside.

Dean’s eyes are closed, but his lips move every so often as Castiel strips him of his shirt. He seats Dean on one of the stumps and tosses his shirt onto the table. It’s a small blessing that Dean remains upright, though slumped, while Castiel kneels to undo the laces of his shoes – barely tied as they are. He tosses those aside, followed by his socks. Dean’s hands and feet are cold, but his forehead is too warm. At least the rain will have helped to keep his fever from rising.

Right now, Castiel needs to get him dried off so the fever will warm the rest of him. And then he can worry about breaking the fever and determining what Dean has. Just from the symptoms he can see and hear, he thinks it might be the sweating sickness. Humans have a new name for it now, but he can’t remember it and presently, he doesn’t really care. The worry is gnawing at his insides but his soldier’s calm has finally settled into place. His hands are steady but his fingers fumble slightly as he works at undoing the knot of string at Dean’s waist.

Castiel pulls Dean to his feet when he stands and he does his best to ignore the clammy skin of his chest pressed against his own, or the laboured breathing against his shoulder, as he pushes Dean’s baggy, grey pants down. He leaves the shorts he wears under them, although they too are soaked through. Dean has to sit again for Castiel to get the pants off him completely. From there, he half-drags, half-carries Dean to the othil and lays him on it carefully.

Dean’s shivering has subsided in the heat of the salman and warmth is returning to his hands. But he’s still too wet and Castiel rushes to pull the extra blankets down from his nest, nearly falling from the table as he does so. One blanket he drapes over Dean’s lap carefully, covering the shorts. He bites his lip and forces his breathing and his heart to remain steady as he kneels next to Dean’s legs and pushes his hands up under the blanket.

It’s more difficult than he thought it would be to not think about what he’s doing as his fingers curl in the waist of the shorts. He counts slowly in Enochain, muttering each number under his breath as he pulls the shorts down and tosses them to join the rest of Dean’s clothing. He’ll dry them properly once he’s made sure that Dean is comfortable. The more he counts, the easier it is to not think about what he’s doing as he uses another blanket to pat Dean dry.

He continues the counting as he passes the blanket over every scar on his belly and sides, lifting Dean’s arms to wrap them and rub them down before doing the same to his legs. The hunter’s mark on his chest is stark against the flushed skin and knowing the meaning behind the symbol leaves a sour taste on the back of Castiel’s tongue. Dean is wearing a necklace Castiel never noticed before and he touches the little gold pendant briefly before moving it aside to dry around his neck and shoulders. That particular blanket is damp by the time that he’s done rubbing it through Dean’s hair and sitting him up to dry his back. Castiel throws it aside to join the clothes and gets another to fold under Dean’s head.

Castiel gathers his powers to him, feeling it build under his skin and flow in his veins to pool in his fingertips. He reaches for Dean and stops with his hand brushing the skin of his chest. The last thing Dean said to him flashes through his mind, the image of the _fear_ in Dean’s eyes rising with it. His hand falls to his side and his power dissipates as Castiel stares down at him.

Dean doesn’t want him to use his powers on him.

 _Ever_.

But Castiel could heal Dean _now_. He could heal him and Dean would be well by morning, no sniffles or cough or fever. Castiel could fix him and he wouldn’t have to worry and Dean would be _better_. But Dean doesn’t want that. If he _does_ use his powers, how mad would Dean be? That fear that had filled his face won’t leave Castiel’s mind and he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s the last thing Dean said to him and what if it fractures the trust between them? What if it costs him Dean entirely?

He can’t take that risk. Dean means too much to him now in ways Castiel doesn’t even fully understand.

Castiel recites the methods for dealing with a fever to distract himself from those thoughts. He knows that he’s not supposed to wrap Dean in blankets, and he should keep the room comfortable. After banking the fire to keep it from making the room too hot, he checks on Dean. His hands aren’t cold to the touch anymore, and his shivers are nearly imperceptible. It’s a step in the right direction and Castiel feels confident enough to leave his side long enough to duck into the cave and find one of his spare qaa to quickly change into. He’s not comfortable wandering around in a wet one.

While in the cave, Castiel hunts through his shelves of jarred herbs – finding the hyssop by the medicinal rune he drew on it and the minty scent of the chopped leaves and flowers. The tea he’ll make from it will help with any headaches Dean might have and it will combat the sweating sickness. Now that he’s away from the distracting stretch of Dean’s skin and he’s cleared his mind of thoughts about healing Dean as he would normally, Castiel finds it easier to focus on the tasks at hand – such as filling the kettle and setting the water to boil over the fire.

Silvanus sits with his head just inside the entrance, chin on his paws. **I have never seen you lose yourself to worry like that, Qaal. You’re a soldier. It is unlike you.**

His hands hesitate as he adds the leaves to the boiling water. It takes him awhile to give a response. “This – this is different.”

**How?**

The only answer that Castiel has is that _Dean_ is different. But it’s not something that he can say to Silvanus. Not right now. Silvanus doesn’t press further and Castiel busies himself with preparing the tea and finding other medicinal herbs on the shelves in the cave. First he gets powdered ginger root, adding a few sprinkles of that to the tea. It will help to boost his immune system. While the tea cools, Castiel continues his search. He’ll give it to Dean once it’s cooled off. It won’t help his fever if it’s too hot.

He finds a near empty jar of sweet violets and takes them to the fire with two pots – one slightly smaller than the other with sections that stick out the side to let it rest on the lip of the bigger one. Now that he has the grill, the pots will be easier to use rather than fighting to hang it over the fire. Castiel fills the bigger pot with water and places it on the grill over the small fire. He makes another trip into the cave for a jug and a cup, filling the jug in the spring and bringing that to the othil.

Dean is lying on his side now and Castiel takes a moment to adjust the blanket laying over his hips to maintain Dean’s dignity. If he can get him to stand later, he’ll wrap it around him more securely. For now, this will have to suffice. There’s sweat gathered on Dean’s temples and in the curve of his neck and Castiel fetches a cloth to dab it away. Dean doesn’t react as Castiel wipes him down again, or when he touches his shoulder and calls his name softly. He does start mumbling unintelligibly when Castiel sits down and pulls him to sit up.

It takes a few tries of pressing the cup to Dean’s lips, but he does eventually drink the water in long, greedy gulps. Dean slumps against his side when he moves the cup away, his head dropping to Castiel’s shoulder with another little noise that sounds likes his name again. It makes Castiel’s throat go dry and he nearly misses the cup when he pours the water again.

“Just one more cup and then you can lie down again.” Castiel says softly, leaning into Dean to get him to sit up straight. He smells like the rain and the forest and that darker scent that permeates his skin – the same scent that filled the pillow Castiel had unintentionally napped on the day Dean had come here two weeks ago. It’s intoxicating.

Once the cup is at his lips and tilted back, Dean drinks it. He’s slower this time, but he finishes it just the same and immediately drops his cheek to Castiel’s shoulder again. This time, as Castiel lowers him back down onto the othil, Dean’s mumbled words are loud enough to be heard, interspaced with the wet rasp of his breathing.

“Gotta find – Cas.”

Castiel rests the back of his hand against his forehead to check his temperature as he hushes him. “I’m right here, Dean.” He pulls his hand back before his traitorous fingers find their way into Dean’s hair. His temperature is holding steady, but it’s still worryingly high.

It barely takes any concentration at all to force more sweet violets to bloom around him as he kneels again by the fire. By the time the tea has cooled to a temperature that Castiel is comfortable with giving Dean, he’s harvested enough of the purple flowers to fill the small pot – already fully plucked of all their stems and leaves. The pot of water is boiling by then and Castiel pours it into the smaller pot over top of the flowers. He covers it with a cloth and leaves that on the stone ledge by his cooking items. It will have to sit for a day, but at least he’ll be able to give Dean syrup instead of tea if he doesn’t like it.

Getting Dean to drink the tea is harder than it was to hydrate him. The moment he smells it, Dean turns his face away and groans. He pushes at Castiel’s hand, although there’s no strength behind it. Castiel frowns and he ends up spilling most of that cup against Dean’s pursed lips as he mumbles what could be obscenities, or it could be various animals.

“Dean, please don’t fight this.” Castiel asks quietly, wiping away the spilled tea. “You won’t accept the help that I _can_ give, at least let me do this for you. This will make you better.” He gets a hacking cough and a whine as an answer and it pulls at something in Castiel’s chest.  “Please, Dean. Let me help you.”

A heavy weight settles behind his ribs as Dean rolls away to face the back of the othil, curling in on himself and coughing again. When Dean rolls again, this time onto his stomach, he starts to push himself up. His arms shake and he wavers as he gets his knees under him. Castiel acts quickly, catching the blanket before it can slip from his hips. He kneels behind Dean while he wraps the blanket securely around his hips, tucking the end tightly to keep it from falling.

“Please, lie down.” Castiel tries to guide him back onto his side, but Dean shoves at him.

“G’way, Sammy – gotta find – gotta make sure – Cas?” He wobbles as he tries getting to his feet. His legs don’t hold him up and Dean sinks back down, blinking blearily up at him. “Cas is –” Dean looks away, slowly glancing around the room even as his eyes start to droop again. “Wouldn’t answer. He okay?”

It’s like a physical blow when the realization hits him. Dean came out here, sick as he is, to make sure that _he_ was okay because he wasn’t answering the phone. He put himself at risk and likely made himself even more sick because he was worried. If Castiel had just answered the phone days ago, none of this would have happened and Dean would be wherever he had been, recovering. This is _his_ fault.

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel whispers over the tightness in his throat and the guilt settling in his stomach. Yellow rue flowers push their way out of the ground around him and Castiel tries his best to ignore them. “I’m fine.” He holds out the cup with the tea again. “Drink this and rest now.”

Dean pushes it away and slumps back down on his side. He doesn’t say anything more, but he curls his arms around his waist and shivers slightly until he stops entirely. His breathing evens out, still ragged and painful to listen to. Castiel sits back on his heels and frowns down at him. How is he supposed to make Dean better if he refuses to take the medicine?

 **Feed it to him.** Silvanus’s voice rumbles from the doorway.

“I’m _trying_.” Castiel snaps back, pushing his hands through his hair. “He is being very difficult.”

**He’s not now.**

“Yes, but he’s sleeping now. He’ll wake up if I try to get him to drink it.”

 **Qaal, he does not need to sit up if you feed it to him.** Silvanus yawns and shakes his head, rustling his leaves. **This is not a suggestion that I like, but it is necessary.**

Castiel looks up at him, frowning in confusion. He can’t possibly mean what he thinks he might be saying. “I don’t understand.”

Night has settled outside the salman and the dark behind him only accentuates the glow of Silvanus’s eyes. **Yes, you do.**

His fingers tighten around the cup and he glances down at Dean. Castiel can feel heat rise in his cheeks and his chest feels like there are butterflies caged behind his ribs. “I can’t do that.” His voice is small, quiet, _scared_.

**If you want him to get better, then you will do it.**

“I thought you didn’t like Dean.”

**I don’t. The Human has hurt you and he will only continue to hurt you.**

Castiel looks up again. “Then why were you protecting him from the rain? Why were you so quick to bring me to focus and get him back here?”

Silvanus huffs and looks away. **The forest called him important and precious. And I have never seen you lose your calm like you did when you saw that the forest led you to him. Just because I do not like him, does not mean that I do not understand, Qaal.**

It doesn’t take him long to understand the meaning behind Silvanus’s words. But they still leave him surprised enough that he doesn’t know how to answer. He understands that Dean means something to _him_ and he’s willing to put up with him because of it. Castiel leaves Dean to go and lean against the side of Silvanus’s head, murmuring a quiet ‘thank you’ against the bark. Silvanus only huffs, but he presses into the touch. Yellow agrimony and the purple bell blossoms of campanula bloom around them and Silvanus rumbles a purr.

He doesn’t leave his side until his courage is gathered again. Castiel’s wings rustle unsteadily against his back, feathers twitching with his nerves as he crosses the short distance back to the othil. He sits next to Dean again, his hands oddly steady as he picks up the cup of tea.

“Please forgive me for this, Dean.” He says softly, one hand cupping the side of his jaw.

Castiel tilts his head back and fills his mouth with the tea. It’s a small amount to start with, just to see if he can do it this way. A mantra spirals through his mind reminding him that just because he dips his head to press his mouth to Dean’s, does _not_ make this a kiss. Even if the simple touch sends something _hot_ sliding down his spine and his wings flare, spreading at their own discretion.

Watching Dean’s reaction from this close is hard, but Castiel does it anyways. He watches the way Dean’s  forehead creases as he uses his thumb on his chin to guide his mouth to open. His other hand stays curved over the top of Dean’s head to keep him from twisting away as he lets the tea slide from his mouth to Dean’s.

It’s messy and he doesn’t doubt that Dean would complain, but at least he swallows compulsively and coughs slightly when Castiel pulls back. He brushes the little stream of tea that had escaped from the corner of Dean’s mouth away with his thumb and steels himself to repeat the process again, and again, and again until the cup is empty.

After administering the tea, Castiel fetches a bowl of water, warming it slightly over the fire. It can’t be too cold, and it can’t be too hot. He dips cloths made from a cut up blanket in the water and wrings them out before laying one over Dean’s forehead and using another to dab at his neck and chest.  The evaporation will help to cool his skin and hopefully lower the fever. It does seem to help as Dean doesn’t sweat nearly as much as before, and he shivers slightly whenever Castiel puts the cloth to his skin.

The rain dies away during the night and Castiel doesn’t sleep. He moves between the othil and the fire pit, watching over Dean and keeping the fire going as their clothing hangs from the nest to drip dry. Sometimes he’ll go into the cave for cool water or to look through his herbs for anything that he might be able to make to help him. Dean sleeps fitfully for most of the night, rolling from one side to the other and mumbling nonsense sentences about people Castiel has never heard him talk about before.

He spends a few hours working on an infusion of catmint – much like the syrup being made from the sweet violet. It takes less time to make and keeps him busy while he prepares it. Castiel substitutes the infusion for water every so often when he uses the cloth to wipe Dean’s skin down. It’s a soothing bath that will help with the aching muscles he undoubtedly has.

There are a few points during the night that Dean does wake up, but Castiel doesn’t believe he is truly awake. Whatever he sees isn’t the same as what Castiel sees and he talks to people who aren’t there. Mostly it’s his brother, and more than once he addresses Castiel directly. It’s worrying, but Castiel takes care of him through it, despite how Dean continues to refuse the tea if he tries to give it to him while he’s ‘awake’. He takes the water just fine, but never the tea.

The first time that Dean opens his eyes while Castiel is feeding him the tea, it nearly stops his heart and Castiel ends up swallowing most of the tea as he pulls away sharply. It’s the one point during the night that Castiel thinks Dean might actually have been lucid when _regret_ changes his features and he almost looks scared. For hours afterward, Castiel continues to turn the words over and over in his head.

“Shouldn’t’ve done it – sorry, Cas –” At first Castiel had thought that he was talking about what _he_ had done to get Dean the tea. But then Dean had reached for him, fingers brushing his leg before he pulled his hand back with a nearly panicked expression, curling on his side. “Don’t hate me.”

Castiel had hushed him then. It was the most vulnerable he’s ever seen Dean, even more so than the day of the thunderstorm or the night that had followed it. After that, he had sat next to Dean while he stirred the tea up again just to keep his hands busy to distract from how Dean stroked absently at the wing within his reach, fingers lazily tracing the feathers until he fell asleep again.

It’s been hours since then and Castiel still can’t stop thinking about it. Why would Dean ask him not to hate him? Was he apologizing for how he left a week ago? Or is there something else? Does it have to do with the night that Castiel returned from the clan gathering? There’s so many questions and he can’t ask them to Dean. All he can do is continue to give him the tea and wipe him down.

When morning comes, the sky is still overcast but the threat of rain has passed. Castiel sends Silvanus to check on the garden while he takes Dean outside to the sand patch. Dean staggers and grumbles the entire way, not present enough to stay standing on his own. It’s an awkward few minutes for Castiel to stand behind him and hold him and the blanket up while Dean relieves himself. He keeps his forehead pressed to the back of Dean’s neck and stares down at his feet, trying his hardest to ignore the burn in his cheeks and the slope of Dean’s back.

Dean confuses him. Emotionally and physically. His presence raises feelings and sensations in Castiel that he can’t rightly remember if he’s had them before. As good as some of these feelings are, they scare him. Castiel doesn’t know what to do with them and he doesn’t want to broach the subject with Dean. What if he knows what they are and Dean doesn’t like the things that he makes Castiel feel? What if that’s what makes Dean leave for good?

Castiel can’t risk that. Dean is… Dean is _light_. Silvanus made living alone out here tolerable, but his love and devotion to Castiel isn’t the same as what he would get from another person. The world was still dark and lonely and then Dean came along. Even if their meeting wasn’t under the best of circumstances, Dean fixed the errors he made and he did what no one else has done in decades. He became Castiel’s _friend_. He chased away the loneliness and the dark and he gave Castiel _more_. And now that light is dim and flickering and Castiel will do all that he can to make it strong again, to repay even a small part of all that Dean has given him.

He brews more tea in the morning and while that cools, Castiel gives Dean some water laced with valerian herbs. It’s a mild sedative and it’ll keep him calm while Castiel makes a trip to  his car. Silvanus returns from the garden, assuring him that everything is fine though damp from the rain. There’s a simple rice porridge cooking over the fire and it should be ready to eat when he gets back. Hopefully he’ll be able to get Dean to wake up enough to eat it.

“Please watch over him while I find his car.” Castiel glances at Silvanus while he checks Dean’s temperature with the back of his hand. He thinks it might have lessened, but he hopes it’ll break soon. “I’ll be back once I find his phone. Mine doesn’t have Bobby’s number.”

**I will make sure he doesn’t leave.**

It’s on impulse that Castiel leans forward, replacing his hands with his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to Dean’s forehead. He doesn’t realize what he’s done until after he’s murmured a few quiet words. “Rest well, micaloz. I will be back soon.”

He hasn’t even pulled away completely before the realization hits him and Castiel nearly jumps to his feet. His heart pounds too hard in his chest and a tight panic fills his throat. Castiel doesn’t even bother getting properly dressed, brushing past the hanging vines and moss to just get out and get away from Dean, even if only for however long it takes to get to Dean’s car and back.

Silvanus settles in the entrance once Castiel is outside, tilting his head to look at him. He waits a few moments, watching him before he speaks. **It would be faster if I took you.**

“I can run.” He hesitates, looking back toward the salman and where Dean is dozing. “Use the forest to contact me if something goes wrong. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

It doesn’t take him more than an hour to return. The trip there is weighed with the thoughts of what he just called Dean. Mee-kah-loh-zod. Micaloz. Mighty light. However true it may be that Dean has alleviated the darkness that Castiel lived in, giving a Human a name in Enochian is something reserved for - for something that Dean _isn’t._ Castiel purges his mind of those thoughts before he makes the trip back. He can’t care for Dean properly if he’s distracted by such thoughts.

He’s slower going back, this time weighed down with Dean’s backpack, his sleeping bag, and the jacket he had found on the seat. Castiel can’t carry either strung over his back, not with his wings in the way, and it’s awkward to carry the backpack differently. Dean has barely moved since he left and the first thing that Castiel does is find a spare set of his shorts in his bag to dress him again. It’s a bit of a struggle to do, but it relieves some of Castiel’s tension to know that Dean is at least slightly dressed now.

He leaves the blanket over Dean’s legs as he roots through the bag until he finds the phone similar to his. Rather than wait until later, Castiel gets his from the vegetable hole and puts it in the window, hoping that even with the clouds the phone will still charge.

 **Why do you need to contact more Humans?** Silvanus asks, curious as he watches him get comfortable.

Castiel sits next to Dean, his legs crossed as he turns the phone over in his hands. It’s the same as his, but he doesn’t know which number to press. When he calls Dean, all he does is hold down the number one. But he doesn’t know if Dean has the numbers assigned to anyone on this phone, or who they might be. It’s a chance he’s going to have to take.

“I need to let his family know that he’s sick and that I’ll be taking care of him.” Castiel waves his hand, a vague gesture for Silvanus to remain silent while he holds down the one and puts it to his ear.

The phone rings a handful of times before someone answers. Dean has explained that Bobby is an older man and he is like an uncle or a father to him. The voice that answers is neither an old man or a young one. It’s a woman and it surprises Castiel enough that she has to repeat her greeting a few times before he can answer her.

“Hello? Dean? You better not be playing a prank on me because I know for a fact that it’s nearly impossible to do a butt dial on your stupid satellite phone. Don’t think I haven’t checked.”

Castiel clears his throat and glances down at Dean. “I’m sorry. I’m looking for – Is Bobby there?”

“Bobby? Um – hold on.” Her voice gets distant, muffled as she shouts. Castiel things she must have covered the phone with her hand. There’s movement and muffled voices echoing through the phone until another voice – male and too young to be Bobby – speaks.

“Hi, this is Sam. Is this Cas?”

His wings flare out behind him, feathers fluffing in surprise. Number one is apparently Dean’s brother and that’s something he should have anticipated. But what _is_ surprising is that Sam knows Castiel’s name. To his knowledge, Dean hasn’t told anyone except for Bobby about him. And that was purely out of necessity.

He curls his hand around his ankle, staring down at where the skin turns white before he answers. “Yes.”

“That’s great! So Dean got over his shit and finally went back, huh? Took him long enough.”

Castiel frowns, confusion starting to creep into his thoughts. “If you’re referring to his sickness, no, Dean is not better.”

That makes Sam go quiet for a moment. “What do you mean ‘sickness’?”

Now that only makes Castiel more confused. If Sam wasn’t referring to Dean being sick, then what could Dean have been getting over? Wasn’t he supposed to be returning to Bobby’s because of his father? Castiel is hesitant to speak further. He doesn’t know how much about him Dean has revealed and he hasn’t talked to anyone but him and Silvanus in a long time. The brief exchanges that he has with Balthazar at the gathering don’t really feel like they count.

Castiel clears his throat and looks at Dean, reaching out to feel his forehead again without thinking. “Dean has a fever and a bad cough. Hiking to my home in the rain didn’t do him any good either.”

Sam makes a frustrated noise. “Of course the dumbass didn’t tell me he was _sick_. Shit, is he okay? Does his need to go to a hospital? I can come out there and take him off your hands if you want. I don’t know where you live, so it might take me some time depending on how far you are, but I –”

A burst of panic rises behind his ribs at the thought of _anyone_ coming to take Dean away from him and Castiel shakes his head even though Sam can’t see him. “No, it’s fine. I can take care of him. The medicines I’ve been giving him are lowering his fever.”

“Oh. Okay. Uh, good.” Sam’s voice changes again, sounding more unsure. “Has he – y’know – _said_ anything? I mean, like, something – um – weird?”

Castiel thinks about that as he switches out the folded blanket for Dean’s pillow, keeping the phone pinned between his shoulder and ear. “You’ll have to be more specific. I brought him here yesterday evening and for the majority of the night, when he was conscious, I’m fairly certain he was hallucinating. Sometimes it was like he was speaking to you or other people. Sometimes he addressed me.”

“What did he say when he was talking to _you_?”

He frowns. Why is that important? “Is it necessary that you know?”

“Kinda.”

“Is there something you know that I don’t?” Castiel asks quietly. Sam was pleased that Dean had returned, meaning that he knew Dean had _left_ , which also means that Dean had spoken to him after that morning. His insistence about finding out the things that Dean has said only leads Castiel to believe that there is something Dean is supposed to tell him that Sam knows about.

Sam’s silence is his answer.

He sighs and sits back on his heels again, reaching for the bowl with the catmint infusion. “He apologized, although I don’t know what for. Whatever it is he thinks I would hate him for it.”

“Crap.”

He squeezes the cloth tightly, wringing it out with one hand. Keeping his hands busy keeps him from worrying about what Sam’s reactions. “You know what it is?”

“I can’t tell you.” Sam says it immediately, his voice firm and leaving no room for argument. “That’s for you and Dean to talk about.”

Castiel chews on his bottom lip and switches the phone to his other ear, freeing up his dominant hand to use the cloth and reminding himself that he’ll need to give Dean the tea again soon. “Does it have to do with your father?”

“God, no.” He snorts and his voice goes unhappy. “No, it’s something that happened between you and Dean and he’ll kill me if you tell him I told you just that.”

A heavy, foreboding weight settles in his gut. “Did he tell you what happened after –”

“Yeah. He said that after you came back from your family thing you got drunk. Dean took off like a chicken shit in the morning and I had to convince him to go back and talk to you again.” Sam’s voice gets softer, fonder, the more that he talks. “I don’t know why he tried to keep you a secret from me, but I’m happy for him. Whatever he tells you just – shit. I shouldn’t be saying any of this – Jess, would you stop encouraging me! You’re not helping.”

The woman’s voice in the background sounds equal parts amused and frustrated. Castiel can’t make out her words but Sam sighs, his voice skewed when he talks again. “Just remember that you mean a lot to him, okay? He’s doesn’t really have – I mean, he _does –_ but you’re – God, damn it – Dean’s scared of messing things up with you. He’s not going to really be any better at this then you are, but if – _when_ – he tells you, just, don’t be too mad with him? Don’t –”

“Don’t hurt him?” Castiel finishes for him, his voice barely above a whisper. The mere thought of that is absurd. He’s far too scared of losing Dean to even think of doing that and he’s not even sure _how_ he could hurt him. “I won’t.”

“Good. And don’t let _him_ hurt _you_ either. Don’t be afraid to call him out on his shit. He can be an asshole sometimes and I’m not there to put him in his place.”

Castiel can see why Dean is so proud of his brother. “Thank you, Sam.”

There’s a scuffle of noise over the phone and Sam sounds outraged in the distance as the woman’s voice – Jess, Sam’s girlfriend, if Castiel remembers correctly – is clearer. “That’s all well and good, now tell us all about _you_. We had a month of Dean trying to be sneaky behind our backs and all we’ve barely got more than your name out of him.”

Castiel’s wings shuffle again and he ducks his head, dropping the cloth back in the bowl. “I need to give Dean his medicine now. Please let Bobby know about Dean.” He doesn’t wait for their answer, pressing the red button before Jess can say anything. It’s rude, but he doesn’t want to talk about himself and Dean really should have some more tea before Castiel tries to get him to eat the rice porridge.

In the time that he was talking with them, the rice porridge finished cooking. Dean makes faces throughout eating it and he refuses to hold the spoon that Castiel found in his bag. It’s both endearing and frustrating, but Castiel sits next to him and makes sure that Dean finished the entire bowl before he lets him lay back down again. He still has no luck in getting Dean to drink the tea on his own.

Dean’s fever decreases throughout the day and he’s more cognizant every time he wakes up. Although he’s never conscious for very long and he doesn’t really talk during it, he does watch Castiel move around or he’ll stare blankly across the room at the fire. Sometimes he pulls the blanket up to his shoulders only to push it away a few minutes later, but he never complains about it being too hot or too cold, or that he’s bored. More than once though, if Castiel sits near enough while sorting the requests he received for mats, he reaches over to thread his fingers into his feathers.

Every touch is like lightning and Castiel has to force himself to hold still whenever Dean touches his wings. It wasn’t like this the first time that Dean touched them, and it wasn’t even like this when he folded his wing around Dean in the cave during the storm. How could three months change so much?

At least it’s easier to take Dean out to the sand patch now that he has his shorts on. The late summer day is warm, but Dean squints in the sunlight and grumbles complaints the whole short distance, leaning heavily against Castiel’s side as they go. Castiel doesn’t protest, but after the first trip, he does find Dean another shirt in his bag once they’re back inside.

It’s difficult for Castiel to help him around and sit next to Dean when there’s so much _skin_ to distract him. The urge to trace every scar with his finger tip is almost painful and he doesn’t think he can fight it anymore. He needs to remove the temptation before he does anything more to Dean then he has already. The conversation they’re going to have about how he gave him the medicine is not one that Castiel is looking forward to.

When evening comes again, Dean’s fever is low enough that it is no longer worrying. Castiel spends time at the table, stirring sugar into the pot of sweet violets while the bigger pot of water boils on the grill. He places the smaller pot over the bigger one and stirs the mixture until the sugar is dissolved. While he works, Castiel eats the remainder of the rice porridge, flavoured with a few other seasonings and herbs that he didn’t put in when he gave it Dean. He didn’t want to risk upsetting his stomach.

Castiel spends most of his time straining the flowers from the syrup through a thin cloth with very small holes poked through it. It’s a slow process, but it keeps him busy. When the syrup is done, strained into a jar and stored in the cave, Castiel cleans up and spread out another mat and blanket next to the othil. Dean is awake and watching him, eyes glazed and unfocused but he reaches for him the moment Castiel is within arm’s length.

“Just one more cup of tea for today and then we’ll rest.” Castiel says softly, kneeling next to him. As always, he tries to get Dean to sit up and take the cup on his own. And just as before, Dean’s nose crinkles and he pushes his hand away. “Please, Dean. Just take it.”

Dean turns away and Castiel sighs, tilting the cup to his own lips again. When he does this while Dean is actually conscious, little noises get muffled in Dean’s throat and he tenses, hands curling in the blanket. He tries turning his face away when Castiel leans down again with a second mouthful, but all it takes is gentle fingers on his chin to turn him back. When the cup is empty, Dean turns on his side and coughs into his hand. Castiel smoothes the blanket over his shoulders and lays on his stomach on his own makeshift bed, well within reach for the hand that sneaks out from under the blanket to find his wing.

Silvanus doesn’t say anything, but he watches vigilant from the entrance. He’s been unusually silent for the majority of the day.

Throughout the next day, Dean sleeps for the most of it. Instead of the tea, Castiel gives him a spoonful of the sweet violet syrup a few times throughout the day. Dean takes to that much better than he did the tea and Castiel is both relieved by it and a little disappointed. He squashes that disappointment as best he can. Those were not kisses and it was nothing to look forward to or enjoy. It was clinically necessary and it won’t be happening again.

Castiel sets up his weaving frame and Dean watches him listlessly as he starts one of the many mats he’ll need for the winter. Dean lays on his stomach, chin propped up on the pillow, and continues to run his hands through Castiel’s feathers while he works. The silence is almost more disturbing than the fevered conversations and Castiel does his best to try and engage him. Some questions he gets answers to, others he doesn’t. At least once he tries to broach the subject of what happened the night that he drank too much, but Dean only stares at him before he curls on his side with his back to the room, blanket pulled high over his shoulder.

As they’re preparing for bed that night, Dean reaches for Castiel like the night before. His voice is half muffled by the pillow when he talks. “S’cold, Cas.”

Tonight _is_ cooler than yesterday, but not by much. That gives Castiel hope and he places the back of his hand against Dean’s forehead. The smile on his lips is as unbidden as when his fingers brush through Dean’s hair. “It seems your fever has broken. I’ll get you another blanket.”

“No.” Dean tugs lightly at the feathers under his hand. “Jus’ c’mere.”

He has to move his makeshift bed three times before Dean is satisfied. By then the edge is touching the othil and there is no space between them. Castiel has to force his breathing to stay as he lays down on his stomach, arms crossed under his head. Something warm is crawling under his skin and pooling in his chest and stomach as Dean fusses with his wing, pulling it over him like Castiel did the night of the storms. He pulls it over his head and then pushes it down until it’s laying over his chest instead, repeating the movements a few times until he decides to leave it resting heavy against his chest, the lesser coverts tickling at his chin.

Castiel closes his eyes, thinking that’s the end of it until he feels Dean’s hand on his elbow. Dean pulls at his arm, mumbling about how it’s still too cold. For a moment, Castiel is worried. Has the sweating sickness changed? Does his have some other kind of sickness now from staying in the rain for too long? Those questions leave his mind with the rest of his thoughts as Dean forcibly pulls him closer. He doesn’t know what to do or say while Dean wiggles around onto his other side, his back to Castiel and his arm still held tightly in his hand.

The entire mess ends with Castiel laying on his side on the othil, the blanket between them and Dean’s back pressed against his chest. They’re sharing the pillow and Dean is holding Castiel’s arm around his stomach, his other arm folded awkwardly between them. It’s not uncomfortable, but all of this is very worrying. Castiel doesn’t know what to do. His wing is folded over them both now, but how is he expected to sleep this close to Dean?

Even through the blanket he can feel the heat of his body. It’s nothing like the fever, but it is very distracting. Just as distracting as the curve of the back of his neck only _inches_ from Castiel’s face, or as distracting as the quiet, happy noise that Dean makes while he relaxes. Dean’s scent is filling his senses, mixed with the dark, heady scent that is purely him and the tang of the catmint he’s been bathed with over the last few days.

That warmth under Castiel’s skin is _burning_ now, clawing its way through his insides to sit heavy in his gut and Castiel knows this feeling. It usually only happens for him during the first few weeks of winter and whatever nocturnal emissions happen throughout the year. But he has no control over those. This – _this_ is something he should be able to control. He can’t be _aroused_ simply from laying this close to Dean.

Dean mumbles a good night, hand squeezing over Castiel’s arm before his fingers go slack. If he thought that he could pull away and return to his own sleeping mat without Dean complaining or waking up, Castiel would do it. But Dean has been so different while he’s sick, so quiet and unobtrusive. It’s been hard to guess what he will and won’t do.

Castiel’s worries keep him from moving and they keep that _feeling_ in his gut at bay. They make it harder for him to fall asleep, but eventually he must drop off. The next thing he knows is that Dean is shifting against him and making soft grunting and groaning noises – the sounds of someone waking up after a good sleep. When he lifts his head, Dean does the same and glances at him over his shoulder.

“Cas –” Dean starts, his voice a little stuffed but he sounds better than he did last night. His forehead crinkles with confusion before he continues. “Why are we cuddling?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> -Rue: regret, repentance  
> \- Agrimony: thankfulness  
> \- Campanula: gratitude  
> 


	19. Working It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean drops his head to the table, forehead against the wood. “Of course he did.” He will find Sam and he will take his stupid floppy hair and he will set it on _fire_. Now that Sam went and opened his gargantuan mouth, Dean has no choice but to talk about what happened before he’s ready to talk about it and setting his head on fire isn’t a harsh enough a punishment for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

When he wakes up, Dean feels better. He feels awesome, at least compared to the muscle aches and the stuffy head and the general uncomfortable-ness that comes with being sick. But there’s this little niggling feeling in the back of his mind telling him that he lost a few days somewhere in the haze of sick and rather than open his eyes and get up and find out, he’d rather just lay here where it’s nice and warm and think about what he _can_ remember.

He starts with his memories of the motel. They’re the oldest. Yup, he can remember hacking and coughing and not wanting to leave the bed. And he can remember trying to call Cas and Cas not answering. But that’s where everything starts to get hazy, right around where his memories blur into the rain and the forest. There’s just a great big black space in his head after that. With a little searching, he does come up with flashes of things, like images but some aren’t images, some are scents and sensations? He doesn’t know how to describe it, but he sorts through what he finds.

Dean can remember a minty taste on his tongue – and he _hates_ the flavour of mint. The scent is okay, but the taste is just gross. He remembers the smell too, but it’s not connected to the taste really. For some reason that’s connecting itself with the cool feel of water and he’s okay with that. He remembers Cas’s wings and the feel of feathers under his fingers, and he’s _definitely_ okay with that little memory. Even if he thinks that it might be a hallucination or something. Unless… Did he really leave the motel and go and find Cas? Judging by how he can hear someone else breathing and there’s a whole slew of forest-y sounds going on beyond that, he’s pretty sure he _did_ find Cas. Or Cas found him. He won’t really know until he gets up and asks him.

The only thing keeping him from doing that is the flashes of kisses. Or the sensation of them – _it_. Because there was only the one, right? Yeah, he’s pretty sure he only kissed Cas the once. That night with the drinking and the ranting and he both loves and hates that memory. Shit. Don’t tell him he tried to kiss Cas _again_ while he was sick. That would just be the cherry on the cake that is this week from hell. No, he’s pretty sure he didn’t. Dean doesn’t have a track record for kissing people when he’s sick. Not that Sammy’s told him at least, and he’s the only one who’s ever really taken care of him when he came down with the flu.

That black haze of memories lifts sometime around what Dean thinks might have been yesterday because he can sort of remember drifting in and out of being awake while watching Cas make a mat. Yeah, he definitely remembers there being something about a mat. And Cas talking. He remembers him talking. That gravel-over-silk rumble of his voice. Yeah, he can remember _that_ no problem. Dean’s pretty sure that he slept a lot yesterday, because even if he remembers things from it, he doesn’t remember _everything_ and those gaping spots in his memories are probably what’s going to get him up.

Well, that and the pressing need to find his bathroom kit for camping and go have a little private moment to commune with the trees. If he’s going to keep visiting Cas out here, they’re gonna definitely need to have the awkward conversation of where Dean’s supposed to go drop a deuce. Maybe he can convince Cas to build an outhouse or something. It won’t smell pretty, but at least it’ll be more comfortable then squatting behind a bush.

Yeah, that is definitely going to get him out of bed first. Talking with Cas can come after. Dean rolls his shoulders and shifts, ready to turn onto his back and stretch. That little movement tells him two things. The first, he is not alone in his bed – which, if he really is at Cas’s, would be the ota-lilly-couch. Judging by what his knee is pressing against, he’s facing the back of it. The second thing he’s figured out is that the heavy weight over him is _not_ just a blanket. No, it’s a wing. It’s definitely a wing. When he moved, it shifted too, _independently_ , and blankets _do not do that_. And if the wing is over him, then that means Cas is laying close. And if Dean isn’t alone on the couch, then Cas is _really_ close. More close than Dean would have ever expected to wake up to.

But how close is close?

Dean wiggles a little bit again, testing all his boundaries to find where everything is touching him. The blanket is covering him from shoulder to ankle, and the wing is over top of that. And that is totally an arm wrapped around his waist. Oh, hello, that’s _breath_ on the back of his neck. How the hell didn’t he notice that before?

Holy shit.

Keep calm. Breathe. Do not freak out. And for the love of God, don’t think that it’s _Cas_ pressed all up against his back. No, Dean shouldn’t even _think_ about how he’s noticing that specific Cas-smell, or how he’s really warm even through the blanket, or how he’s _pressed up against his back_ and breathing on his neck and pretty much _cuddling him_.

The worst thing about all of this is that he can’t remember _how_ they got like this. Did Cas just up and decide to crawl into his bed on his own? Or did Dean _ask_ him to? Oh God, what if he _made_ Cas do it and Cas didn’t want to? Fuck, it’s just like the stupid kiss all over again.

Maybe he can wiggle out of this without waking Cas and it won’t be so awkward. Two seconds later, when Cas’s breathing changes and he tenses up, Dean knows he failed. Some sort of defensive instinct kicks in and all that _ohshitohshitohshit_ in his head turns off when he twists to look over his shoulder at Cas – purely out of some sick _need_ to see if Cas is as weirded out by this as he is.

Cas’s head is up and off the pillow and he’s staring at him with the eyes of someone who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. That just means Dean is going to have to handle this with kid gloves because there is _no way_ he’s going to fuck this up like he did with the goddamn kiss. Not again. Sam will have his hide if he does and he might not be able to forgive himself for fucking shit up a second time.

“Cas –” He starts and stops. Wow, it doesn’t hurt to talk. That’s different. He still sounds a little stuffed up, but at least he doesn’t sound like he’s dying anymore. But that doesn’t explain why they’re laying like this and he lets that confusion show. “Why are we cuddling?”

The only answer he gets is a little blink and he can feel Cas’s fingers flex over his stomach. His feathers start to puff up and then he’s gone. Not _gone_ gone, but he _is_ scrambling away, wings flapping as he gets his feet under him and puts almost the whole room between them. Dean would worry about the flowers that fill the space, but he’s more distracted by the fact that Cas is only wearing his goddamn loincloth and all their clothing is hanging from the net of vines that holds up his bed.

Of course he still notices the flowers. He devotes them to memory even. One of these days, when he remembers to, he’s going to buy a book on flowers and find out what the hell they are. And that book damn well better have the _meaning_ in there too. Dean may not be up to date on plant lingo, but he knows that that shit has meaning to each flower or something and he can only hope the meanings are the same when it comes to Cas’s emotions. Who knows, maybe it was Angels who taught Humans the meanings and it’ll be the same? That would be nice.

Today’s choice of emotional growth has a heaping helping of those fist sized, pink, multi-petaled monstrosities that Dean likes to call ‘pee-somethings’ because that’s the only letter he remembers from when Cas actually named them. The next flower, mixed in with the pink ones, are yellow with five petals and blue-green leaves. Dean is pretty sure he’s never seen those ones before.

There’s a blush filling Cas’s face and it’s like he’s having trouble just _looking_ at Dean. He pulls his wrap down from where it’s hanging and his hands fumble with getting it tied up. Despite the looping _what the hell happened_ going through his brain, Dean feels weirdly calm as he sits up, turning on the couch so he can cross his legs and lean against the back. It’s around then that he realizes he’s only in his boxers and a t-shirt. And then it clicks that there’s a set of boxers hanging from the nest too.

Holy shit.

Yeah, he needs to know what happened and he needs to know _right now_.

“Cas?” Dean tries again.

“I’m sorry.” It’s an immediate response and Cas _still_ isn’t looking at him. “I should never have allowed – I’m sorry. I’ll –” He stops and turns around to start throwing tinder onto the fire to get it going and he’s acting like he’s the one at fault here or something.

“It’s okay.” He keeps his voice gentle, because as curious as he is to find out how they ended up like that, it really is okay. “I’m not mad or anything, I promise.”

That gets Cas to stop and he glances over his shoulder. “You’re not?”

Dean shrugs and scratches at the back of his head, looking around the room. “I’m just kinda confused. And I’m not going to get mad over something like cuddling. Not unless it happened after you took advantage of me or something.”

Cas’s ears go red and he’s on his feet and facing him, wings flared and fluffed. “I would _never –_ ”

“Relax.” He waves his hand to cut him off. “I’m not saying you did. I’m just telling you the only reason I’d be upset about cuddling.” Dean stares at Silvanus sitting with his head in the door and those creepy glowing eyes he’s got focused on him. He’s not growling or anything like he usually does, but he’s still unnerving as hell just _watching_ him. “I’m –” He looks away from Silvanus and back to Cas. “I trust you.”

His wings un-puff and fold up against his back tightly, almost curling around his shoulders like he’s embarrassed by it. Dean grins and shrugs. He’s just going to have to pretend that he hasn’t already broken Cas’s trust and kissed him when he was drunk. It’ll take a long time for him to get over that, but Dean doubts that dark burn of self-hate in his stomach is going to go away any time soon. Especially not since he still has to talk about that with Cas. Shit, that’s one conversation he really isn’t looking forward to having.

“Just, sit and calm down and tell me what happened.” Dean gestures at the mats set up next to the couch where he assumes Cas had been sleeping before the cuddling took place. He can put off the drunken kiss conversation for a little while longer until he understands how he got here and how they ended up spooning.

Cas’s wings twitch a few times before he turns back to the fire. He comes over to sit down after a few handfuls of grass and twigs get the fire to at least start sputtering to life again. Dean doesn’t stop him from pulling the mats away from the ota-lilly-couch and he waits while Cas takes a jug into the cave and practically shoves a cup of water into his hands as soon as he’s back.

“Thanks.” He gives Cas another smile, hoping it’ll calm whatever nerves of his are all worked up. Cas is still red in the ears and having trouble meeting Dean’s eyes, but he does sit down and he does face him, so that’s a step in the right direction. “You okay now?”

He nods and Dean smiles again. “Good. Let’s start with how the heck did I get here? The last thing I really remember is trying to call you and you weren’t answering.” Speaking of… “What happened with that anyways?”

Cas pours himself a cup of water and stares down at it. “I buried the phone in the cave.” He doesn’t even give Dean a chance to get worked up over that before he continues. “With the way that you left, I thought I’d done something irredeemable.”

“But I told you –”

“I know what you told me.” Cas shrugs and glances up from his cup briefly. “That doesn’t change that I thought I had done something to ruin this friendship and I – I couldn’t bring myself to answer it. It kept ringing and every time it did it just made me feel worse for not answering, so I buried it where I wouldn’t be able to hear it.”

Fuck. Here he was thinking the kiss was the worst thing he’d done to Cas. Ditching out on him like that sent him into a funk and _Dean_ did that. He made Cas feel bad enough that he didn’t even want to answer the fucking phone. Shit.

He scrubs a hand through his hair and shifts slightly. “About that –”

“Please, let me finish.” Cas looks up, getting a little more of that soldier edge to him as he sits up straighter and his wings stop being held so tightly against his back. “If I had answered the phone, you likely wouldn’t have ended up being as sick as you were and I want to apologize for that.”

“It’s – yeah, you don’t need to apologize for that. I was a dick for leaving how I did.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks down at his cup. “How sick was I? I didn’t throw up on you or something, did I?”

Cas makes a little noise that might be a laugh, but it’s just a huff of air and Dean doesn’t want to consider that an actual laugh when he _knows_ what Cas’s real laugh sounds like now. “No, you didn’t. You had a very high fever and a bad cough. You’ve been here three nights now.”

“Three –” Dean nearly chokes on his drink. “What?”

“This is the third morning you’ve been here. It was a few days ago that the forest led me to you because you were lost and you had passed out.” Castiel takes his cup and refills it. “Your fever broke yesterday evening and you were barely conscious for most of the time that you’ve been here. I say that because most of the time you were delirious with the fever.”

Dean winces and draws his knees up to his chest. “Shit. I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

“Nothing that I consider stupid. I didn’t understand half of what you were saying to begin with.” Cas shrugs and at least he’s looking less and less uncomfortable the more they talk. Except for when his ears go pink again and he looks down at his cup. “And even though it was necessary, I should apologize for removing your clothing. They were wet and cold and you were only going to get more sick if you stayed in them.” If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say that Cas wasn’t just upset-flushed but actually _blushing_ -flushed. “I promise you that I kept you appropriately covered with a blanket and I didn’t see anything.”

Dean can feel his own blush creeping up his neck and he shifts again. “Yeah, that’s – okay. Thanks. I –”

Shit. How the hell is he tongue tied _now_? He’s been in more compromising situations then this – like that time in high school, for what brief time he actually attended it, when he woke up in the bushes after an all-night party and he couldn’t find _any_ of his clothes. His wallet and his phone had still been there, but all his clothes were missing and he had to call Sam to bring him something while he hid behind a shed before the kid’s parents found him or something.

The idea of _Cas_ seeing him naked sets loose a flock of butterflies in his stomach and he’s not exactly sure why, because he sure as hell wasn’t this embarrassed back then. Hell, he’d been _pissed_. That was his favourite AC/DC shirt they stole. At least he got it back the next school day, but _still_. Nobody fucks with his memorabilia.

And then it hits him.

He _missed_ Cas pulling his shirt and his pants off. Dear sweet Jesus how can he not remember that? Cas undressed him right down to his boxers and Dean was naked in the same room as Cas and he doesn’t remember it. And it’s leaving him _really_ conflicted. On one hand, the guy he’s been jonesing for over the last three months _stripped him down_. And on the other, he probably looked like death while it was happening and judging by Cas’s face right now, it wasn’t the most comfortable of experiences for him.

Fucking fuck.

Dean rubs the back of his neck again. “Thanks. Sorry for all the trouble.”

“It wasn’t any trouble. I trust my medicines better than I do anything Humans have.” Cas gestures at the cave. “The only troublesome part was getting you outside to –”

“Son of a bitch.” He hisses, covering his face and wishes for some place ot hide right now. “Please tell me you didn’t have to hold me up so I could take a piss.” Cas is suspiciously silent. When Dean peeks through his fingers the blush says it all and he barely manages to muffle his groan. He shoves the blanket off and Cas is on his feet before Dean even puts his cup down, hand held out to help him up.

He lets Cas pull him to his feet before he steps back. It’s feels a little weird to be standing and he shifts his weight a few times to loosen up his legs. “Well now that I’ve killed the mystery, I’m going to go take care of business.” His bag is sitting at the end of the couch and Dean crouches by it to find the little bathroom kit he has with the tiny shovel, toilet paper and lighter in it. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“I’ll get breakfast made.” Cas says softly, turning toward the cave. “Silvanus, you stay here and leave Dean in peace.”

Silvanus huffs and shuffles over so there’s a part of the entrance open for Dean to get by. They eye each other up when he squeezes past him after putting on his shoes and he can’t help checking over his shoulder as he goes around Silvanus to follow along the rock wall that makes up the cliff that Cas’s house is grown against.

When he gets back, Cas has oatmeal heating in a pot and he’s staring down into the contents of the cooler like he can’t make up his mind. Dean is fighting not to feel as tired as that little walk made him. He feels alert and awake, but his body just isn’t up to snuff right now and he hates it. After dropping his bathroom kit on his bag, Dean goes over to where Cas is.

“What’s up?”

“I’m debating what meat to use with lunch or supper. Everything is frozen and will need to thaw for use later. And there’s no more of the strips of pork that you had before to eat with breakfast.”

“The bacon? Yeah, I finished that while you were gone.” Dean squats next to him and Cas immediately shuffles over to put some space between them, the back of his neck going red and his wings puffing up a little more. He tries really hard not to think about _why_ he does it. “What did you get while you were at the gathering?”

“Some chicken and beef.” He points at packages wrapped in what looks like it might be linen.

“Is it ground beef? Last I checked, we’ve got tomatoes. If you make noodles, we could make pasta with a meat sauce.”

Cas takes out one of the packages and closes the cooler. “It’s not, but I can make it work. You’re still recovering. Go sit and rest. I’ll take care of everything.”

Dean rolls his eyes and follows Cas into the cave after he drops the meat package on the cooking shelf along the wall. “I’ve been doing that for a week, Cas. I can sit and rest over here while helping you. And you’re not  done telling me everything anyways.”

He kneels by the vegetable pit, lifting the cover. “I’m not?”

“Well you didn’t explain why we were cuddling, for one.” Dean starts taking all the vegetables that Cas passing up to him. There’s a few little pouches of things that Dean hasn’t seen before and he figures they’re stuff that Cas brought back from the gathering. “And if I’ve been here two days, what happened during that?”

“You slept quite a bit and refused the medicinal tea that I tried to give you. I –” There’s a little hiccup of hesitation that gets Dean’s attention. “- managed to get you to drink it for the first day until the syrup was ready and you took that just fine.” Cas shrugs, but his wings start curling over his shoulders again like a barrier between them and Dean _knows_ there’s more to the story than just that. He follows Cas back to the table where they dump everything they’re carrying while Cas keeps talking. “I let Sam know that you were sick and that I was caring for you, and aside from that and when you apologized for something, nothing of note happened until you said you were cold and dragged me onto the othil last night. If there had been a way to move back to my mat without waking you, I would have done so.”

A few things in there pull Dean up short and make him completely forget that moment of hesitation. He sits down heavily on one of the stumps and accepts the bowl Cas passes to him to put the vegetables in while he takes care of the oatmeal. “Okay. Two things.”

Cas glances at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised.

“First – _you talked to Sam?_ ” That’s actually the biggest ‘what the hell?!’ on Dean’s list right now. He can deal with the apologizing thing after.

“I was using your phone to try and call Bobby. I got Sam instead.”

Dean rubs his hand over his face. “Shit.”

“He knew who I was.”

“Yeah, I kinda had to tell him the other day before I got sick.” He rolls a tomato back and forth between his hands as a distraction. “You didn’t tell him –”

Cas’s wings spread slightly and he frowns at Dean over his shoulder. “I’m fully aware of how to keep a secret. I gave him no indication that I’m a Hamiaah. I just let him know that you were sick and he gave several hints that there was something we need to talk about.”

Dean drops his head to the table, forehead against the wood. “Of course he did.” He will find Sam and he will take his stupid floppy hair and he will set it on _fire_. Now that Sam went and opened his gargantuan mouth, Dean has no choice but to talk about what happened before he’s actually ready to talk about it and setting his head on fire isn’t a harsh enough a punishment for this.

He doesn’t look up again until there’s a bowl of oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon in front of him, the spoon he keeps with his utensils in his bag placed next to it. Cas sits opposite from him with his own bowl and there’s another in the center of the table with a bunch of berries in it. Dean watches Cas eat by tilting the bowl back and he fiddles with the spoon for a few minutes before he finally plucks up the courage to actually _say something_.

“About that –”

Cas holds up his hand and Dean stops, waiting for him to finish the mouthful of oatmeal and berries. “Whatever it is, Dean, I believe that you already said you were sorry for it while you were sick.”

“But don’t you want to know what it is I actually apologized _for_?”

He pops a berry into his mouth and tilts his head while he looks at him. It’s a calculating look that sends a weird chill down Dean’s spine. “When I spoke to Sam, he hinted that whatever it is occurred the night that we were drinking. He seems to know what it is and he alluded to it being something that could possibly alter our relationship.”

Dean’s fingers go tight around his spoon and his appetite goes out the window. He’s going to _kill_ Sam for this. Fuck going in search of dad. After he’s done his visit here, he’s going straight back to California and he’ll duct tape Sam to the ceiling by his _balls_.

“I don’t want that.” Cas continues, looking down at his bowl and whatever is left in it. “I enjoy your company and having you as a friend. If knowing would change that, then I don’t want to know it.”

There’s the most confusing mix of relief and disappointment battling it out in Dean’s chest right now. He apologized and Cas apparently accepts the apology without even knowing what it’s for and that’s like a weight off Dean’s shoulders. But at the same time Cas just flat out said he doesn’t want their relationship to change and that kinda feels like a kick to the stomach. There’s this part of him saying that Cas was so into that kiss that the chance of their relationship changing into something _more_ is a billion times more likely than their friendship just _ending_ – which is what Cas seems scared of.

It makes him want to eat even less, but Cas made this for him and he’s going to damn well _eat it_. Silvanus is huffing in the entrance and Cas glares at him over his shoulder, his ears just a little more red than they were a few seconds ago. Dean manages about half the bowl and a handful of blueberries before he pushes everything away.

Cas gives him a small, worried look as he picks up the bowl and Dean just shrugs. He starts to stand to help him clean and Cas’s wings do this weird posturing thing, flaring up like a threat and it makes Dean sit down again.  “If you don’t have your appetite back, then I want you to rest now. I can take care of everything else.”

Dean nods and crosses his arms on the table, resting his chin on them while Cas lets Silvanus lick the bowls clean before he washes them with water. It’s a while later, after breakfast is cleaned up and Dean is back sitting on the couch while Cas is working on his mat, that he finally talks again.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure about what?” Cas glances over at him, hands never stopping.

“About not knowing what happened.” Dean has his head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling where all the trees that make up the walls of Cas’s house meet and twist together.

Cas takes a moment before he answers. “If I change my mind later, would you tell me then?”

He turns his head slightly to look at him. “Yeah.”

“Good. Then there’s no need for me to know now.” Cas gives him a small smile. It’s all in his eyes and it sets those butterflies off in Dean’s stomach again. Not even Silvanus’s growls from the entrance chase the bugs out of him, especially not when Cas says a few things in Enochian that shuts him up.

Dean chews on his lip and he tries to keep from fiddling with the blanket over his lap. “Does that – So, does –” _Goddammit_. He clears his throat. “Are we okay?”

“Yes, Dean. We’re okay.” There’s that little smile again and Dean has to shove away the stream of thoughts that pop up full of little plotting ideas on how to turn that little smile into a big one. He can work on that later.

Then a question tumbles out of his mouth that makes Dean want to smack himself. “But you know that I lied, don’t you? There was no call from Bobby.” Son of a _bitch_. He can’t actually remember if Cas said anything about it, but he’s pretty sure that he didn’t and he might have only really vaguely hinted that his talk with Sam would have lead him to believe that, but now Dean just went and outright _confirmed_ it and he is the biggest ass to ever dumbass.

Cas’s hands go still on the mat and the smile changes places with a frown. Dean mentally punches himself in the nuts for that and he fists his hands in the blanket to keep them from doing anything. It’s like watching a train wreck. He can’t look away and even if the unnaturally long eye contact is nothing new between them, it’s making him want to shift around and get out from under the disapproving glare.

“Yes, I know that you lied. I gathered as much from my call with Sam.” Cas turns back to the mat and now his hands are moving a little more forcefully, his wings puffing up behind him again as the feathers start getting twitchy. It makes Dean want to cringe and crawl under the blankets and try to pretend that he never opened his big mouth. “I don’t like being lied to, but I’ll forgive it this time in light of what happened the night before.”

“But you don’t –”

His hands slow a little and his wings relax again. “Whatever it was, I’m sure that I did something to upset you enough that you lied to try and protect my feelings to give yourself the time to think. It may have backfired on the both of us, but everything has worked out so far and we should just leave it at that.”

That’s going to come back and bite them both in the ass somehow. Dean _knows_ it. But Cas is giving him an out on this whole fucking mess and he’ll be damned if he’s going to look a gift horse in the mouth. They don’t say anything more on that particular subject and they turn back to talking about normal things – like what Dean did while Cas was at the gathering and glossing over what _he_ did after he left.

The only thing that happens the rest of that day is that Silvanus leaves. Which is kind of a monumental thing since Cas didn’t have to tell him to go. According to Cas, all the growling that he suddenly started doing after they have their lunch – which was a kind of vegetable soup that Cas made – was him announcing that he should get back to his patrol of the mountains. In Dean’s brief experience, Silvanus doesn’t like leaving Cas alone with him and it’s more than a little suspicious that he’s leaving now without a fuss or anything.

Dean doesn’t bring it up before or after Cas comes back inside from seeing Silvanus off. Who the hell knows what’s going through either of their heads and he doesn’t want to accidentally kick off some kind of fight or – God forbid – somehow convince Silvanus to stick around or remind Cas about anything that they’re carefully avoiding talking about.

That doesn’t really work so well though. Cas gets a few rows done on his mat before he gets up to start making bread. Dean sits at the table and mixes the ingredients per Cas’s instructions while Cas rolls the oven out. It’s while the bread is baking that Cas has him take a spoonful of a purple syrup that he says he made from flowers. It’s sweet and actually pretty nice and Dean likes it.

“I made this because it was so hard to get you to take the tea.” Castiel clips the lid back into place on the jar of syrup, flipping the latch that keeps it down. “If I could have used my powers, you would have been better by the next morning instead of being sick for so long.”

Dean looks up from settling back onto the couch and pulling the blanket over his lap. He almost asks why Cas didn’t do that instead, but then he remembers what he said the day that he left and the look on Cas’s face when he did it and that turns the sweet taste of the syrup sour in his mouth. Fuck. That’s something they should talk about, but it’s not like Cas is saying anything more about it and that leaves it to Dean to say something, doesn’t it? Shit, shit, _shit_. He hates being the one who has to bring shit up like that. He really hates it and it’s not like he hasn’t noticed that he’s the one who always does it between him and Cas. But that’s understandable because Cas is a hermit and shit and it’s been fifty years since he had to deal with anything like this.

He sighs and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Cas, about that –” Cas sits back down in front of his frame and looks at him expectantly. His wings twitch up, like this is something that he’s actually interested in hearing and there goes any hope Dean had that Cas would say he didn’t want to hear about it. “When I told you – when I left last time – I didn’t mean it like I said it.”

“You said you didn’t ever want me to use my powers on you. That’s fairly straightforward, I would think.” Cas shrugs and picks up a piece of his material to start weaving it again.

“I know, but I mean that it’s not because of you or something. It’s me, okay?” Dean stretches his legs out and fiddles with the edge of the blanket. “I’ve been raised being absolutely freaked out of my gourd about Angels and their powers – that they’re _bad_ and I need to avoid them at all cost and then you went and offered to use them on me when I was already freaking out and I didn’t think about what I was saying, it was just automatic –”

Cas’s hands pause and he at least has the sense to cut Dean’s ramblings off. “Does that mean if you’re ever injured or sick in my presence again, it would be alright for me to help you?”

He dips his head in a small nod. “You’re the only Angel I trust. I’d probably try and knife anyone else.”

That puts another small smile in Cas’s eyes and the little knot of tension in Dean’s chest just lets go. He grins at him and Cas’s smile grows a little more. While Cas works on his mat, Dean reads or talks with him. There’s really not much else to do when Cas demands that he spend most of today resting too – helping with the bread was the extent of what Cas was willing to let him do. Dean only really agrees to a day of bed rest when Cas promises that they’ll go out tomorrow. He needs eggs and he wants to check on the garden and the rivers and Dean wants a goddamn bath.

For supper, Cas makes the noodles again and watching him do it is like watching magic. One minute he’s got a lump of dough, the next it’s in strings, and the next its hundreds of noodles. It’s like he blinked and boom, _noodles_. Life needs a replay button or something so he can watch it again in slow motion. At least his complete and utter confusion of how it went from dough to noodles gets a pretty big, really amused smile out of Cas and he damn near hums while he’s boiling them for the sauce simmering in a pan.

After supper – which was fucking _delicious_ and Dean quietly doesn’t wish that Cas would help cook all his meals for him – Dean phones Sam while Cas goes for a little walk to give him some privacy for the call, since he won’t let Dean go for a farther walk than to go to the bathroom. He doesn’t even let Sam speak as soon as the line picks up.

“You son of a bitch.”

There’s a moment’s pause. “Hello to you too, Dean.”

He winces. “Sorry, Jess. That was meant for Sam.”

“I figured as much. Hold on, he’s in the bathroom braiding his hair.” Her grin comes through loud and clear and Dean once again tells himself to remind Sam to marry this girl. “Glad to hear you’re feeling better. Cas sounded worried when we were talking with him.”

“Yeah.” Dean glances at the entrance, wondering exactly where Cas went. “He took good care of me.”

She makes a humming noise. “He also hung up on me when I asked for more information about him.”

“He’s pretty private. You should’ve seen what a grump he was for the first few days that I knew him.” Dean grins and slides down to sit more comfortably. “I’m not gonna give you any more info about him if you’re going to try and wrangle it out of me.”

“When did you get so considerate about someone’s feelings?” Jess teases and Dean rolls his eyes, noting the bang of a door in the bathroom.

Sam’s voice is quiet, but Dean can still hear it. “Probably around the time he realized he’s in love with a hermit.” His voice gets more clear the moment the phone is handed off to him. “Isn’t that right?”

“I’m not in love with him.” Dean grumbles. “And I hope you’re ready for me to piss in your gas tank the next time I’m there. How the hell could you have _told_ him?”

“I didn’t _tell_ him anything. I just hinted that you had something to talk to him about and that it was important.” Sam sounds more frustrated than Dean thinks he has any right being. “Please tell me you two have talked by now.”

Dean grunts and contemplates mailing a bag of deer poop to him. “Yeah, we talked. Cas doesn’t want to know what happened but I promised that I’d tell him if he ever asked. I was _going_ to tell him, but then he told me not to, so I didn’t and now we’re more or less back to normal and don’t you dare try and lecture me about that.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Sam sighs. “You’re both emotionally stunted as far as I can tell and I’m just happy that you at least talked a little bit. How are you feeling?”

“A little achy, a little stuffy, but fine.”

“Good. I offered to come out there and get you, but Cas told me he had you covered.”

“Literally. I woke up this morning and we were cuddling.” He waits while Sam repeats the news to Jess and Dean rolls his eyes at the happy whoop. “And then he kinda freaked out like he got caught doing something bad and I had to tell him it was fine. Apparently I pulled him down for the cuddling last night and he couldn’t sneak out of my bed before he fell asleep.”

Sam snorts. “Haven’t I always said that you’re a cuddler?”

“Haven’t I always said _go to hell_?” Dean snaps back, but there’s no venom in it. He looks up when Cas brushes the vines out of the way, only actually coming in when Dean waves him over. “Hey, Cas is back. I’ve gotta go.”

“Yeah, okay. Feel better soon and call me when you get to Bobby’s, and tell Cas that we say ‘hi’.”

“If I remember. Bye, Sam.” He hangs up and tosses the phone onto his bag, picking up his book as Cas sits down in front of his mat frame.

That’s how they spend the rest of the evening and it’s nice. When they finally go to bed, Cas sleeps in his nest and Dean isn’t sure if he’s thankful for it or not. Sure, it means that he won’t get accidentally cuddly in his sleep again. But it also means that there’s this great, big, open, _empty_ space next to him. And he kind of misses the weight of a wing over top of him. He grew up sharing a bed with Sammy, and he’s always liked having a warm body to curl up next to when he goes to sleep – which might explain his habit of sleeping around (and he hasn’t even done that since… since… shit, he can’t even remember the last time he had sex). That keeps him up longer than it has any right doing because it’s so _not him_. He hasn’t gone without sex this long without noticing it in pretty much forever. And he’s pretty sure that it’s Cas’s fault somehow.

At least in the morning, after they have some toast with leftover meat sauce, Cas takes him to the lake for a swim and a bath that they both really need. It’s pretty relaxing sitting in the shallows and skipping stones. Dean likes that any silence between them is comfortable again and Cas’s little eye-smiles are more frequent and still one of the best things he’s ever seen.

Unfortunately, initiating a splash war doesn’t get the laughs out of Cas that Dean was aiming for. It does get him some smiles and it ends with both of them too tired for the walk back to Cas’s house. So they end up spending another hour sitting on the beach to dry in the sun.

They have leftovers for lunch and the afternoon is spent picking vegetables in the garden and chasing chickens away from their nests so they can steal the eggs. After supper, Dean oils up Cas’s wings again and judging from the way Cas goes tense at first and then just _relaxes_ , he’s pretty sure it’s like a really nice massage or something equivalent.

Even though he’s feeling better and better every day, Cas still makes him take a spoonful of syrup before or after every meal just to make sure that the sick stays away. They experiment whenever it comes to making supper and they never have the same thing for supper twice. Dean really kind of loves it as long as he doesn’t sit and think about how _domestic_ it is.

The day following their gardening, Cas does another thing that Dean secretly really likes. He picks out one of the books that Dean already finished from his bag and they end up sitting side by side on the couch with their legs spread out and they just read together. The quiet is nice and comfortable and when Cas rearranges himself with his legs crossed and he leans forward with his elbows on his knees and the book open on the floor before him, his wings stretch and Dean copies his reading position just to give Cas the space he needs to get a good stretch. It ends with Cas leaving a wing curved over Dean’s shoulder and it’s practically second nature for Dean to start stroking a hand through the feathers. The only hard part about reading with Cas is resisting the urge to lay with his head in his lap. He and Sam used to do that when they were kids and it’s just part of reading to him – laying on each other like that.

Maybe that’s why, when it’s reading time the next day, Dean ends up laying on his back with his legs stretched out and over Cas’s lap. It gets him a side glance when he worms his feet under Cas’s arm until he lifts them, but Dean pretends he doesn’t see it and Cas just lifts his arms to make room before he rests his forearms across his calves.

On his list of favourite things to do with Cas, reading time is right up there with hiking. They spend at least a few hours every day just going for a walk. The first walk they go on is the day they start reading and Cas takes him up to along the cliff edge. The path takes them right to the head of a waterfall and they stand as close to the edge of the cliff as Dean will allow so Cas can point out all the places in the forest that he likes to go.

He’s not expecting Cas to actually _jump_ off the cliff as soon as he’s done pointing out the towering tree in the distance as his spirit-tree, Juniper. Dean damn near has a fucking heart attack until Cas starts _soaring_ and then he has to sit down with relief and just stare. He’s pretty sure that everything that Cas does right then is him showing off.

Cas dives and rolls and flaps his way up higher only to spiral back down again. Every time he folds his wings up and just _plummets_ , Dean feels his heart leapfrog into his throat and it’s always a massive relief when his wings snap out again and he just glides out of the fall. It’s pretty breath taking to watch and if Dean didn’t absolutely _hate_ heights, he might even be a little jealous.

What _really_ takes his breath away and nearly makes his heart stop completely is when Cas finally lands. He’s rosy cheeked and full on, no doubt about it, actually _grinning_. Dean’s hands twitch and he gets two steps closer before he catches himself and realizes just what he was about to do. His automatic reaction to Cas grinning like that was the desire to grab him by the face and kiss that big, bright smile.

It sends a gooey, sappy, burning, utterly _terrifying_ feeling to find a home for itself in Dean’s chest and he has to force the smile he gives in return, throwing out some sort of comment about giving a little warning next time.

He’s not hit with the name for that feeling until the day before he’s planning on heading out again.

They’re out on one of their hikes and Dean is standing behind Cas while he’s crouched by a bush of poison ivy and giving a lecture. Cas does that a lot when they’re out walking. He just stops to point out different plants or trees and takes a little time to tell him things about them that Dean is pretty sure not even most botanists know. Right now it’s something that he _does_ know.

Cas is going on about not eating the berries or touching the leaves and Dean doesn’t stop him from talking about it. That’s really the absolute last thing on his mind. Instead, he’s watching Cas’s back move while his wings shift, feathers getting all twitchy the more into his lecture he gets as he goes on to talk about all the other kind of berries that Dean shouldn’t eat. And Dean is _smiling_ while he actually listens to every word because even if he already knows this stuff, it’s still interesting to hear Cas talk about it.

Yeah, that’s when it hits him why he can’t remember the last time he had sex and what that goopey feeling sitting in his chest is.

That’s when he realizes just how head over heels he is for an _Angel_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Peony: bashfulness, shame  
> \- Rue: regret  
> 


	20. A Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has to look away and quickly because Cas is practically naked and even though his chest and stomach are covered in the imprint from the mats, he’s still tempting as fuck. If he doesn’t look away or sit up himself, Dean’s pretty sure that he’s not going to be able to resist reaching out and touching and here comes all the stupid thoughts that kept him up half the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Sam was right. Jesus fucking Christ on a stick, Sam was _right_. Dean knows he’ll never hear the end of it when – _if_ – he tells him but that doesn’t change that Sam was right and that sappy warm feeling in his chest is – is – is – holy shit he can’t even _say_ it so how the hell can he be _feeling_ it.

And of all the people in the world it had to be Cas – which actually is pretty fucking great because Dean thinks Cas is the best thing since colour TV and sliced bread and all that. But Cas is a goddamn _Angel_. He’s the one thing that Dean will get lynched for if he ever brought him home to his dad. Not that John even knows that Dean likes guys and he’d probably disown Dean if he _did_ know – since his dad is just oh so accepting of all things _different_.

Fuck. What’s he supposed to do? He’s never been in this position before. Sure, he’s liked people– Cassie, for one – but he’s pretty sure anything that he felt for her wasn’t like this. He cared for her, yeah,  but he hadn’t called her every other day or thought about her almost every day. They used to hang out, but usually it was dinner, a movie – maybe, and then sex and pillow talk. It’s not like he was able to see her very often and it’s probably why their ‘relationship’ didn’t last more than a year. She _was_ the first person he thought he might have been able to reach a point – _this point_ – with, but it just wasn’t in the cards for them.

But this? It was… shit, what’s that word from that John Cusack movie? Serenity? No, that was the Firefly movie. Something that starts with an ‘s’… Serendipity! That’s what this was, this was _serendipity_. What were the chances that Dean’s _first_ solo hunt would be the one Angel who wouldn’t fight back? What were Cas’s chances that he’d get the one hunter lacking the backbone to complete the hunt? That’s one hell of coincidence. And it’s not like Dean expected to enjoy the grumpy company long enough to find out Cas isn’t actually grumpy. He’s just got rusty people skills and now that Dean got beyond all that, it’s fucking awesome being friends.

At first Dean was just blaming his hormones for wanting to jump that ride since he met Cas on the tail end of a month long dry spell. And now… Now it’s so much more than that. He can’t even think about sex with someone else right now because he just wants _Cas_. Maybe that’s why he likes reading time so much? It’s the only time that he can get away with touching Cas, even if it isn’t slightly sexual.

The scariest thing about all this? _He doesn’t mind_. The no sex thing? Dean actually doesn’t mind it. He’s got his hand and that’s been doing just fine for him. Talking and hanging out with Cas is satisfying him in totally different ways – ways he didn’t even _know_ were lacking in his life – and that feels pretty damn good. Out here is the first time Dean really gets to relax and he likes it. He likes being with Cas like this and now he’s mad at himself for his stupid _feelings_ making things complicated.

Cas stands up and his wings flare out for balance. Dean tries not to think about how much he loves Cas’s wings. They’re big and gorgeous, soft and strong, and damn if Dean hasn’t wanted to use one as a blanket every night this week. He’s fully aware that that would mean having Cas sleeping next to him and Dean wants that _badly_. Bad enough that more than once he’s caught himself thinking about all the different positions that they could lay together in that wouldn’t hurt Cas’s wings. There’s not that many, but the ones that he _can_ think of make him really want to muck up the courage to ask Cas to stay out of the nest for the night.

“Are you hungry?” Cas asks, turning to face him and tilting his head curiously.

Dean takes all his thoughts and shoves them deep down. He doesn’t want to think about them right now and ruin the last day that they’re going to be hanging out. Even if Dean wants to come out at least once a month, he’s got no way of knowing if he’ll actually be able to manage it. So it could be some time before he gets back here to see Cas and he’s already left him once this month on a sour note. Dean doesn’t want to do that again.

He can wait until tomorrow when he’s alone in the impala to have some kind of horrific freak out. It’s not that he _wants_ to have one of those, but he’s pretty sure that one is brewing and it’ll reach its breaking point the moment that he’s in the clear and he knows that having a little break down isn’t going to affect Cas and make him feel worried or bad or something.

Chances are, Dean’s going to end up in the nearest bar where he’s going to drink himself to the point where he’ll be fall-down drunk. Then, when he stumbles outside, he’s probably going to find the nearest place to sit down and he’s going to call Sam no matter what time of the night or morning it is, and he’s going to spill his guts. Hopefully Sam will be able to talk some sense into him. He’s always been Dean’s voice of reason and if the stars line up right, he might even be able to help Dean through this.

With everything properly buried, Dean tilts his head back to look up at the sky, finding the sun where it’s starting to set over the trees. “I’ll probably be hungry by the time we get back and get supper cooked.”

“Then let’s head back.” Cas folds his wings up tight against his back and heads off in the direction they came from, this time taking a different path so they’re not seeing the same things on the way. “What would you like to eat?”

Dean follows, keeping his eyes on anything that isn’t Cas or his wings or his legs or his stupid little fur wrap that barely leaves anything to the imagination. “I dunno. I was kinda figuring that I’d try making pizza for you today. There’s a block of cheese frozen in the bottom of the cooler. It’s fine to use it frozen like that, especially since you don’t have a cheese grater.”

“Are you going to let me put vegetables on it?”

He snorts and looks up to see Cas watching him over his shoulder, eyes crinkled with a smile and that kind of soothes the hard, confusing rock sitting in Dean’s stomach where he buried all those thoughts. “We can do half and half. Meat on one side, veggies on the other.”

“But what if I want to eat the meat side too?”

Dean laughs again and catches up to him so they’re walking side by side instead of him trailing behind. “Cas, you can’t eat the _whole_ pizza.”

He rolls his eyes and Dean ducks forward to avoid the wing that snaps out to shove at him. “You know what I meant.”

“You can have pieces from whatever side you want.” He grins over his shoulder, jogging ahead a little ways to keep out of hitting reach. “Splitting the pizza means we get two different kinds instead of having meat and veggies on every piece.”

Cas nods but he doesn’t rush to catch up either, keeping the slow pace until Dean stops and waits for him. “And what kind of toppings are appropriate?”

They talk about what to put on the pizza the whole way back and it’s a great distraction for Dean. As long as his mouth is working and he’s focused on doing something else, then he doesn’t accidentally start thinking about anything else and that’s a good thing. That’s a very good thing. Once the pizza is put together in the same kind of pan that they make the pies in and shoved into the oven, Dean keeps himself busy by packing up. He’s going to be leaving early in the morning again after breakfast, just like he did before.

Cas works on his mat while Dean dumps everything out of his bag and packs it carefully. All his dirty clothes get shoved to the bottom of the bag, barely folded because they don’t matter at all. He leaves out his clothes for tomorrow, including a sweater to throw over his shirts. There are a total of four books that he brought with him – not including the cookbook. One of those is the one he’s reading and Cas is most of the way through one of the others. They should both be finished their respective books with today’s reading time after they’re finished supper. That leaves three books that Cas hasn’t read yet and Dean sets them all aside.

When he closes his bag and puts it out of the way, Cas looks pointedly at the stack of books on the tree stump next to the couch. “Aren’t you going to take those with you?”

“Only the one that you finish tonight.” Dean explains, going over to the oven to check on the pizza.

“Why are you leaving them?”

“So you can read them, duh.” He a cloth to grab the handle of the pan and pull it out to check on the status of the cheese and the crust. It looks decent enough and he moves the pan to the grill for it to cool. “If you want, I can bring even more out next time.”

He’s not expecting Cas to be there to pass him the spatula and Dean grins up at him as thanks before using it to separate the pizza from the edges of the pan. The closest thing they have to a cutting board is a kind of wooden serving platter thing that Cas gets out of the cave. It’s a joint effort to transfer the pizza from the pan to the platter and they leave it on the table to cool.

“You don’t have to bring me things to read.” Cas says softly, barely loud enough for Dean to hear him. He’s setting the table with a few plates and cups while Dean is filling the water jug in the spring at the back of the cave.

“You like reading, don’t you?” Dean points out, sitting opposite him at the table and pouring their drinks. “Why shouldn’t I bring you stuff to read if you like it?”

Cas’s wings are getting twitchy and if Dean checked under the table, he’d bet that there are flowers starting to grow around the stump-stool he’s sitting on. He nearly does duck down, but Cas beats him to the punch. “It’s just agrimony. And you don’t have to go out of your way to bring me things like that.”

“Just shut up and tell me what kind of books you want me to bring you.” He’s not annoyed with Cas for this. It’s actually kind of really cute that Cas never wants Dean to sacrifice time or energy or anything for him, like he thinks he’s bringing him trouble if he does. But the thing is that Dean _wants_ to do things for Cas. He wants to bring him all the stuff that Cas likes or doesn’t get to have out here and wishes he did. Hell, he wants to be out here as often as he can because it’s fucking awesome. It’s like a constant vacation with his best friend and Dean loves it.

There’s that fucking L-word again and he takes it and shoves it far down with the rest of those thoughts. If he thinks about them now, he’s not going to be able to just enjoy this time with Cas like he wants to. So he’ll bury it. He’ll leave it all for a later freak out like he’s sure he’s going to have.

Cas almost blushes and there’s a little smile playing over his lips when he looks up at him when Dean stands to start cutting the pizza. “Thank you. It’s been a very long time since I got to read anything. I’ll be happy with whatever you bring me, whether they’re books you like or not.”

“If you say that, you’re going to get saddled with all the books I like so we’ll be able to talk about them.” He grins and gestures for Cas to take a piece while he cuts the rest. “That’s why I’m leaving the others, y’know? So that I _know_ we’ll have something to talk about if everything else dries up.”

“We’ve been talking for months and it hasn’t yet. Do you expect it to?”

He shrugs and takes his own piece when he sits down. “Everyone has dry spells. I’ve known Sammy his whole life and sometimes we can talk for hours without stopping to breathe and sometimes we don’t talk for months because we don’t have anything to say. It just happens.”

Cas puts his piece of pizza down before he even takes a bite and Dean realizes what he said that might have tipped Cas off. “I don’t want that to happen with us. So I’m taking measures. We’ll always have something to talk about with the books if we ever have trouble with anything else. Don’t worry about it and just eat your pizza and tell me how awesome it is.”

That gets a little eye-smile and Cas takes his first bite, eyebrows raising as he chews. Dean grins and starts in on his slice. He knows Cas hasn’t had cheese like this before and judging by the look on his face and the way he polishes off half the pizza, Dean adds the hippy-cheese to his shopping list for the next time that he comes out here.

They clean up and Dean takes a moment to check what supplies he’s going to take back with him tomorrow. He’s already planning on leaving the cooler behind so Cas can keep the rest of the meat without having to rush to eat it or make jerky out of it or whatever the hell he does with it. And Cas already knows he’s leaving it – he’d been so happy when he found out that he’d blanketed the floor with little purple flowers that looked like bells.

The only stuff coming back with him is the junk food that he hasn’t finished off yet because Cas makes huge frown-y faces whenever Dean tries to eat them. He knows Cas isn’t going to eat them because of all the ingredients, so they’re coming back with him and he puts the extra bag of food by his stuff. Tomorrow morning, during breakfast, he’s planning on sitting Cas down and making a list of all the stuff that he’s going to want him to bring next time. It’s probably something that they can talk about later over the phone, but those can just be conversations to _add_ to the list.

Eventually all the little tasks and things are wrapped up, cleaned up, and put away. There’s nothing else left for them to do except reading time and with his new revelation Dean is a little worried he’s not going to be able to focus on the book – and he wants to finish it tonight so he can leave it with Cas. Either way, there’s no avoiding it because Cas has already picked out their books from the pile and sat down next to Dean’s pillow, leaving the other end of the couch for him to claim.

He gets a few pages into the next chapter when Cas shifts around on the couch. Dean doesn’t really pay attention, just leaning to the side to avoid Cas’s wings while he makes himself comfortable. The last thing he’s expecting is Cas’s legs in his laps. It’s always been him who’s pushed the boundaries when it comes to reading time and having Cas do it is – it’s _really_ fucking surprising. He glances up and finds Cas laying on his stomach, Dean’s pillow propping up his chest and chin. His wings are folded loosely against his back and the longest feathers are in Dean’s lap over top of Cas’s feet.

Cas isn’t acting like this is weird for him. In fact, he looks like he’s super comfortable. Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t think this is at all weird but it’s making that sickly sweet feeling in his chest build itself a goddamn rollercoaster ride from hell and ride it into next week. He’s not feeling awkward at all, but Cas making himself more comfortable with physical contact like this is _not_ helping Dean’s situation and all those _feelings_ that keep pushing against all the stuff that he’s trying to bury it under.

It takes a little longer for Dean to calm down enough to be able to focus back on the book again. What’s _really_ weird is that it takes _touching Cas_ for that to happen. Specifically, it takes curling one hand in Cas’s feathers and stroking with his thumb before he gets even remotely calm enough to start reading. Cas’s other wing twitches slightly when he touches them, but they settle quick enough.

Dean kind of hates that he’s leaving tomorrow. He’s spent roughly three weeks out here now and he’d promised Bobby that he was going to be showing up two weeks ago. It’s actually a little weird that Bobby hasn’t called him yet to find out where the hell he is. Maybe Sam called him to let him know that he was sick or something and that he was going to be staying out with Cas for a little longer. At least Dean knows if he did that Bobby knew well enough to keep his frikken mouth shut about _what_ Cas is.

But the point is that Dean doesn’t want to leave. Leaving means that he doesn’t get to have moment likes this with Cas anymore. It means that he won’t get to see him or even talk to him every day. There won’t be any more hikes or cooking experiments that always end up tasting great because even if Dean doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, Cas usually does and can salvage anything that Dean fucks up.

And thinking about losing all of that when he leaves makes pain throb behind his sternum. It hurts and it’s depressing and Dean doesn’t want to leave. He has to because he’s worried about his dad and he doesn’t want to read in the newspaper one day that the body of a man matching John’s description was found mutilated in the woods when he could have found him and been hunting with him – not that he actually wants to hunt anymore.

That’s going to be one hell of a conversation and he _really_ isn’t looking forward to having to break it to him that he’s just not all that interested in hunting Angels anymore. Sure, Dean still wants to get the bastards who took out his mom. But how can he ever hunt an Angel when all he’s going to see when he looks at them is Cas? How can he look Cas in the eye knowing that he took another Angel’s life with his own hands? He hasn’t learned that much about Angels in his time hanging out with Cas, but he has learned enough to know that pretty much everything he knew about them is _wrong_.

He’ll probably need Cas’s help building a proper argument for that. Maybe Cas can help him find the Angels who caused those storms and then he can find out _why_. Maybe knowing why will help give them all some kind of closure and that’s all they’re going to need to call off this witch hunt on Angels. Then he could be friends with Cas guilt free and not having to worry that his dad might show up and try to kill the best friend he’s had in a long time or the first person that he can remember that he actually has _feelings_ for. That’s a whole new set of fears that Dean doesn’t even want to consider and he shuts that door firmly, putting all his attention back on the book.

Dean finishes his book before Cas does and he’s more than happy to just sit there and hold Cas’s feathers and try and not think about certain things. His wings are calming and they help clear Dean’s mind and it brings him to one question.

Is what he feels for Cas really all that bad?

Sitting with Cas like this, he really can’t think of any reason why not. It’s not like he needs to tell Cas about his feelings or anything. He can keep them a secret until they either go away or just become like background radiation – something he knows is there but he doesn’t see it or notice it or care about it. It’ll probably hurt at first, or at least that’s what every RomCom he’s ever seen has taught him, but it won’t be the first time Dean’s ignored parts of himself like that.

They turn in for bed when Cas finishes his book and puts it away in Dean’s bed. A few hours later, Dean is still wide awake and staring up at the faintly glowing mushrooms on the walls that Cas had grown to give them some reading light. Without Cas down here to distract him, every reason that says that having _feelings_ for Cas is a bad idea comes blazing out of the dark to beat him around the head like a bunch of pixies with sticks and Dean hates it. All he can think about is how Cas is an Angel so that’s already a huge problem considering that he’s a goddamn hunter and his family is the best in the business.

Of course that’s not even touching on how Cas doesn’t even like him that way so why should he even think about not trying to get rid of these feelings. Cas likes their relationship as they are right now. He likes being _friends_ and he said – in no uncertain terms – that he doesn’t want anything to change.

But the thing is, Cas doesn’t know what happened that night that could potentially change their relationship. Does he think that it’s something bad that would just ruin what they have completely? Or does he think that it’s something good – like what it was even though Dean feels like a douche for kissing him when he wasn’t really there – but that’s actually not something that he wanted and because he doesn’t want it that might upset Dean and he is making this whole fucking thing way more confusing than it needs to be.

Jesus, how long is it going to be before he can go back to thinking of Cas as just a friend again? And how the hell is he supposed to sleep like this when his brain won’t fucking shut off? It just keeps thinking back to the things he doesn’t want to think about, even if he tries that stupid counting sheep trick that never works. How is part of the problem the only thing that makes everything just go away long enough for him not to think about it? That doesn’t make sense and Dean doesn’t know what to do.

The only thing he can think is getting Cas to sleep down here with him, close enough that he can reach him if he needs to. That would be ridiculous to ask, right? Yeah, it would be. Maybe he just needs to get something to drink. That should help. Dean tries being quiet when he kicks open his sleeping bag and squints his way to the table and the table where they left out the water jug and their cups.

“You can’t sleep either?”

He inhales the water instead of drinking it and is mid-coughing fit when Cas drops down from the nest onto the table, hopping easily to the stool and to the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Dean really needs to talk to Cas about wearing more than just the loincloth to bed. He holds up his hand to keep Cas from talking until he can breathe properly again. It takes a few tries to get his words to sound like more than a croak. “How come you’re awake?”

Cas shrugs and sits down, pouring himself a cup too. There’s a few moments of uncomfortable silence while Dean leans against the table and Cas stares at the cup before Dean decides to throw caution to the wind. He’s tired and he wants to stop thinking and he just wants everything to stop for a little bit.

“Could you –” Two words and he chokes. Not literally, but nothing comes out after that and Dean is left staring at Cas stupidly while he looks up at him, head adorably tilted. It takes three more attempts to get out the rest of the question and Dean has to force it out while looking away. “Could you sleep down here tonight?”

He hears the shuffling sound of Cas’s wings as they spread and puff up in surprise, and when he looks down at his feet, those pee-somethings are spreading out slowly from Cas’s side of the table. Dean glances back at him and even though it’s pretty dark, he thinks Cas might actually be _blushing_. Why would he – shit. Did he think that Dean was –? Oh, fuck.

“I mean, y’know, setting up the other mats or something. You don’t have to share the couch with me like before or whatever, that’s not what I was asking. If you want to, we could, but it wasn’t what I meant and I’m just going to shut up now.” He puts an end to the hole he’s digging himself into and downs the rest of his cup before retreating back to the safety of his sleeping bag.

If he happens to leave enough space on the edge of the couch when he lays back down for another person to fit, that’s just a happy accident. Dean tries really hard not to think about the shuffling and the rustling noises he hears behind him and he tries _really_ hard not to react when a wing folds over him, the small top feathers brushing under his ear as it settles. He reaches up to smooth his fingers over the edge of Cas’s wing and smiles when it pushes into the touch slightly.

Cas isn’t on the couch and a glance over his shoulder shows him lying on his stomach on the makeshift bed he puts together with some of the other mats, and there’s a blanket covering him from his hips and down. His eyes are closed and his cheek is pillowed on his arms. He looks _relaxed_ and maybe he couldn’t sleep either because this this is their last night together and he needed some kind of physical comfort like Dean did.

“Sleep well, Dean.” He murmurs into the crook of his arm and Dean smiles again, lightly squeezing his wing where he holds it.

“Night, Cas.”

Dean was right. Having Cas down here, close enough to hear his breathing and close enough to touch if he just reached out, it takes away the massive weight that had been sitting on his brain like the bullying fat kid on the playground. He stifles a yawn and settles comfortably under his sleeping bag. There’s no counting sheep or worrying about what’s going to happen with his feelings or Cas’s or anything. There’s just the relaxing feeling of being close to him and it’s enough to put Dean to sleep in minutes.

That, of course, means that the morning comes a lot faster that Dean thought it would. He wakes up still holding Cas’s wing and with the unexpected surprise of a hand fisted in the back of his shirt. That’s something pretty awesome to wake up to, actually. It’s not cuddling, but it means that Cas needed to hold onto him while he was sleeping too and that’s just – well, that just puts a big stupid smile on Dean’s face when he rolls over to look at him, slack faced and kind of drooling on the mat under his cheek. He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or kiss him and all Dean manages is a loud snort that has Cas waking up with a jerk.

“Good morning, sunshine.” Dean grins, propping himself up on one elbow while Cas blinks at him, bleary eyed and slightly confused. “Did you sleep well?”

It takes a moment for Cas to realize what his hand is doing and he pulls that back slowly, frowning like he’s not sure why he did it in the first place. “Yes, I did.” He pushes himself up until he can sit back on his feet and stretch properly. “Did you?”

Dean has to look away and quickly because Cas is practically naked and even though his chest and stomach are covered in the imprint from the mats, he’s still tempting as fuck. If he doesn’t look away or sit up himself, Dean’s pretty sure that he’s not going to be able to resist reaching out and touching and here comes all the stupid thoughts that kept him up half the night.

“Yeah.” He throws out the answer because it’s the only one that he can give while he gets up and stretches until his spine pops pleasingly.

Morning rituals take maybe a whole five minutes to finish between them and then Cas makes breakfast while Dean rolls up his sleeping bag and straps his pillow to it. He stares down at it for a few minutes before looking over his shoulder at Cas kneeling over the grill and frying up some eggs. “Hey, Cas?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t even look.

“Could I leave these here?” He gestures at the stuff on the couch when Cas does look over his shoulder at him. “I don’t really think I’ll be needing them any time soon and if I do then I can just go buy new ones. And this way we won’t always have to carry them to and from the car.”

Cas just looks at him for a few minutes before he nods and turns back to the pan. “You can leave them there for now. I’ll find a place for them later.”

“Thanks.” Dean puts them to one side and packs his bag with the last of his clothes, checking around for anything he might have forgotten. It doesn’t look like it and once he’s satisfied, he sits at the table and makes a list of all the stuff that he’s going to bring next time.

The first item on the list is meat (the organic, hippy, expensive as all hell kind). Next he adds powdered milk and cheese and a few different spices that Cas didn’t have when Dean was looking through the shelves for things to use with the recipes in his book. He scratches those off the list when Cas points out that all Dean has to do is ask and he could grow them fresh immediately. That said, Dean writes a reminder to find a hippy cookbook that uses the all-natural, made-from-scratch stuff that Cas uses. He adds ‘books’ to it too, just as a reminder to stop by a second hand store to buy a bunch of cheap novels to bring out. It doesn’t need to be all the Vonnegut that Dean reads, but he could probably get a good couple dozen of that soppy romance shit and some old text books or something equally boring for Cas to read in his spare time.

Dean has the sneaking suspicion that he’ll listen to what Cas says no matter what book it is that he’s talking about. Hell, he could probably recite pi to the billionth decimal and Dean would hang on every number.

Shit. Exactly _when_ did he go so gonzo for an Angel again?

With breakfast finished and the list as made as it’s going to get right now, Dean gets his back pack and Cas gets the mostly empty duffle of food. The walk to the car is filled with discussions about the books they finished last night and Dean tries not to give any spoilers about the one that he read, since Cas hasn’t even started it yet. When they reach the impala, she’s a little dusty and there are acorns and bird shit on her and Dean nearly drops to his knees and cries.

“Next time, I’m bringing a tarp and I’ll give you a little shelter, baby.” He coos at her, brushing everything off as best as he can once his bags are in the backseat – trunk space is reserved for all his weapons. “I’ll get you a top of the line car wash with the works as an apology. I promise.”

Cas just watches him, head tilted and eyes unfocused like he’s thinking. At least he’s not giving Dean the weird looks Sam usually does whenever he starts talking to the impala like this. Frankly, Dean’s happy as long as Cas isn’t looking _sad_ right now. The last few times he’s had to say goodbye, Cas’s expression was almost enough to get him to stay. But this is the first time he’s leaving where Cas has the eye smiles going on again.

“If you’re going to be visiting more, I could look into a more permanent location to keep your vehicle.” Cas offers while Dean is standing on his tip toes and doing his best to brush the leaves off her top. “Perhaps I could find a better place than the middle of this road. It’s rarely used, but it would be suspicious if someone _did_ come along and find your car sitting out here.”

“That would be awesome, Cas.” Dean turns around to grin at him. “Don’t put yourself out for baby’s sake, but that would still be sweet if you have the time.”

Cas just shrugs and tips his head. Now comes the part that neither of them really wants and Dean isn’t sure if he should go for a handshake, or a hug, and he’s firmly squashing the little voice in the back of his head shouting for him to try and grab another kiss. He should be boycotting any and all physical contact if he wants to get his feelings under control.

Surprisingly, Cas makes the first move. He steps forward and his arms twitch up like he’s going for a hug, but then he just stops, looking awkward and out of place and Dean really can’t help his smile. Just like he can’t help taking up the slack and stepping in. Cas still doesn’t hug back when Dean gets his arms around his shoulders and pulls him in for tight hug. At least, he doesn’t hug back with his _arms_. Those stay at his sides, but his wings flare out and forward and Dean can feel the feathers through his sweater when they press in against his back. Best of all is the smile when Dean steps back. It’s lighting up Cas’s eyes and even showing some teeth and _fuck_ , he has to put a few more steps between them until he’s backed up into the car before he does something stupid like _actually_ kissinghim.

This is going to be so much harder than he thought it was going to be.

x

Delphinium grow in thick swatches around Castiel as he spots the red creeping up Dean’s neck. Whenever he somehow manages to make Dean blush, it feels like a victory and Castiel treasures each moment. He hadn’t been able to go through with the hug without knowing if Dean wanted one or not, but when Dean had stepped in and carried it out, Castiel had been hard pressed to keep his arms from circling his waist. He’s not sure if he would have been able to let go afterward. But his wings – the wings that Castiel is _certain_ that Dean likes more than even his parents ever did – had folded forward of their own accord and the sensation of the feathers dragging over Dean’s shoulders when Dean pulled away had sent pleasing chills racing along the vertebrae of his spine.

Castiel had been starting to worry that something was wrong after their hike yesterday. He could tell that Dean was trying to act like nothing was bothering him, but there was something on his mind. Perhaps it was only that Dean realized yesterday was their last day together for at least a month, if not longer. If that’s the case, Castiel can completely understand. He had been more talkative than usual during yesterday’s hike purely to keep away those thoughts.

Dean pulls open one of the doors on his vehicle. “So, I guess I’ll see you next time, huh?” He looks back at Castiel and the blush has reached his ears now. “Do you want me to call when I get to Bobby’s, or in a few days?”

“Whichever works best for you.” He dips his head, shoulders twitching in a shrug. Of course he would prefer that Dean call every day, even if just for ten minutes. But he can’t ask for something like that and he won’t say it.

“Um, probably in a few days then.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and looks into the vehicle. “I’m probably going to dick around in town for a little bit cleaning the car up and winning a little spending money for gas before I head to Bobby’s, so I might not get there until tomorrow. And I’ll want to settle in there and find out what’s up so –”

Castiel smiles and he wants to reach out and touch just to soothe Dean’s nerves like he did last night. “Then we’ll speak in a few days.”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles back at him. His smiles are always the biggest when Castiel gives him one in return. “So, I’ll talk to you later then.” He nods as if that makes the plans final. “Bye, I guess. I’ll let you know when I can come out next as soon as I figure out my plans.”

“I look forward to it.” Castiel takes a few steps back when Dean slides onto the seat and starts the engine. He lifts his hand in a small wave. “Goodbye, Dean.”

He gets a wave in return before Dean shuts the door. Dean keeps glancing back at him as Castiel moves to the treeline so he’s out of the way while Dean turns the vehicle around. They share another wave before he drives away. Castiel remains where he stands until he turns around the bend and is out of sight. This is nothing like the last times that he watched Dean leave. This time he knows that Dean is going to come back. He left his cooler, the books and his bedding, and he promised that he would return. It’s more than Castiel could ever hope for.

Rather than return to the salman immediately, Castiel visits the lake for a quick bath and to purify it. After he completes his chores and duties around the forest, he plans to work on the unfinished mat hanging from the frame. When that’s done, he thinks perhaps he’ll see if he can find a suitable place to build a shelter for Dean’s vehicle. Even though he doesn’t approve of the obnoxiously loud, pollutant spewing monstrosity, ‘baby’ seems very important to Dean and if giving the vehicle a proper shelter would make Dean happy, then Castiel would like to have one built before Dean comes back. It would certainly be a big surprise.

Thinking about the expression Dean would make, his excitement and how he would likely hug Castiel again for the simple gestures of finding a safe place to keep his vehicle decides it for him. That will be his next task once he finishes his current mat.

While swimming and diving to reach the point where his purification would have the most effect, Castiel can’t help but think about last night. He had been sorely tempted to take the option of sharing the othil with Dean and ‘cuddle’ as he had called it before. But that had seemed like such an embarrassing slip of the tongue for Dean that Castiel couldn’t do it in good conscience, worried that it was perhaps something that Dean didn’t actually mean to say. In any case, Castiel was inexplicably pleased when Dean asked him to sleep next to him last night. It meant that he got to be close to him again and feel the lightning sensations that zip along the bones of his wings when Dean touches them.

That is, perhaps, one of the things he will miss the most while Dean is gone. Now Castiel truly understands why wing grooming plays such a large part in the relationship between mates. It’s such an exquisite feeling to have someone else comb their fingers through your feathers, straightening them and oiling them and simply _touching_ them. It’s wonderful and Castiel can’t help sometimes wondering what other situations he could place himself in that would compel Dean to touch them more.

Making meals for himself is never as fun alone as it is with Dean’s commentary and questions and his sheer, overwhelming presence. Castiel doesn’t even bother using the table when he eats, instead taking his meal in front of the frame and sorting his materials between bites. If he works at it steadily, he should be finished the mat by the end of the week. Depending on how long it takes, at most he’ll devote a week to finding a nearby ideal location for dean’s vehicle. If it takes longer than that, then he’ll take a break and work on his next mat. He needs to make as many as he can in the next few months, otherwise it will be a very cold winter for him. The mats make excellent insulation when he covers the walls with them, stuffing grass and moss into the crevasses between the trees.

Thinking about winter only serves to make him wonder if Dean will still come to visit when there is snow on the ground. Would his vehicle be able to make it up the road if the tracks are filled with snow? If it means getting Dean to visit even during the winter months – though perhaps not during the first few weeks of the season – then Castiel is willing to dig a path out himself. Of course he’ll enlist Silvanus’s help with the task. He’s very good at clearing the snow away and he always shows up after a snowfall to clear paths around the salman so Castiel doesn’t have to wade through the snow to go relieve himself.

He makes a mental note to remind himself to ask Dean about it as soon as he can.

It takes Dean four days to call again, and when Castiel answers he’s taken aback by just how _excited_ Dean sounds. “Cas! Cas, you’re never going to believe what Bobby just told me. Holy crap, this is amazing. Come on, guess!”

“You just said that I would never guess it.”

“That means you’re supposed to guess.”

“That’s illogical. Just tell me.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Alright, Spock, alright.” Castiel ignores the reference that he doesn’t get. He’s sure that if he asks, Dean will explain it and that will just deviate from the news that Dean is trying to give him right now. “I was talking with Bobby about how I’m going to break the news to dad that I don’t want to hunt Angels anymore and that I know dad is probably going to go off on me because I don’t know how to do anything else except hunt and I’m not sure if I want to go back to school because I kind of hated it when I _was_ going – I mean, I was good at it and I liked learning, I just hated classes and having to deal with teachers and all the annoying –”

“Dean.” Castiel interjects, settling down in front of the frame again. “You had a point?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m getting to it.” He laughs again and his excitement is infectious. Castiel’s wings are twitching against his back, feathers rustling as he waits for the news. “Bobby just finished telling me that there’s _other_ stuff I can hunt, Cas. Hunting is all I know and, Jesus, Cas. There are actual fucking _vampires_ out there. Vampires, and werewolves, and ghosts, and all that shit that goes bump in the night. Everything that I thought were just myths and legends are all _real_ and they’re honest to God Human-killing bastards and Bobby just said that I should give hunting them a try! It’s something that I can do while travelling around looking for dad and it’ll keep me busy and I won’t be just doing nothing.”

Castiel’s wings flare and he is equal parts pleased and surprised. Hunting the supernatural is something that Hamiaah do the world over. He’s killed his fair share of monsters and this is a decision that he can fully support, and even help with. There are so many ways he could be helpful to Dean with this and he smiles brightly at the nearly complete mat. “That’s wonderful, Dean.” He doesn’t bother hiding the warmth in his voice.

Dean’s silence is unexpected, although it only lasts a few moments. “Why aren’t you more surprised at finding out that shit like ghosts are real?”

Castiel frowns. “Why would I be surprised?”

“Because they’re not supposed to be real.”

“But they _are_.” He doesn’t understand what Dean is trying to point out.

“Wait.” Dean’s frustration is starting to seep into his voice and he takes a deep breath before continuing. “Cas, are you telling me that you already knew about this stuff?”

“Yes. Hamiaah fight the darkness and the creatures that live in it. More than once in my life I’ve hunted the very things you just named. It didn’t occur to me that you didn’t know they were real or that there are other kinds of hunters out there.”

Dean sounds about as surprised as Castiel feels. “Oh. Well, that’s great! You can tell me all the stuff that Bobby can’t.”

“I’d be happy to help, Dean. All you need to do is ask.”

His laughter echoes through the phone and sends pleasing tingles across Castiel ribs as warmth fills his chest. He may not be able to remember when Dean’s laugh started having this effect on him, but Castiel hopes that it never stops. Maybe if he wasn’t so distracted with listening to that, he wouldn’t say what comes out of his mouth next.

“It’s nice to know that you’ll be hunting Demons instead of Angels now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Agrimony: thankfulness  
> \- Campanula: gratitude  
> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Delphinium: joy


	21. Painted Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can’t, Dean.” He sounds small, quiet, like it’s actually hurting him to speak right now and that stamps out whatever anger Dean’s got going on pretty damn fast. “I can’t. This is our biggest secret and I’ve already said more than I ever should have.” Cas’s voice goes even softer toward the end, making it harder for Dean to hear him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

The first thing that Dean does after driving away from Cas again is find the nearest bar. That just happens to be the same bar where he got drunk not even two weeks ago, and as luck would have it the damn thing is only a few hours away. Of course that gives him plenty of time to have an internalized freak out before he can hit the bar and get himself some liquid courage. Maybe with that flowing in his veins instead of blood, he’ll be able to actually _think_ about yesterday’s little realization.

Dean isn’t equipped for this. What the hell does he know about being in love? It’s only a small four letter word and it scares the ever-loving shit out of him. He’s never had luck with it and any time he’s even so much as _thought_ that he might have something like it, he just ends up losing that person because he can never just stay in one place, or he can never _commit_. And it fucking _hurts_ every time.

It takes Dean half a day and what might have been his metric weight in booze before he’s more or less okay with the idea of having mushy feelings for Cas that feels like a miniature sun sitting between his ribs. He staggers out of the bar before midnight and at least this time he had the genius idea to park the impala at the motel a few blocks away and walk. Another genius move was not going drinking when the sky was clouded over. Tonight it’s all stars and that’s great. It would suck massive monster balls if he ended up getting caught in the rain and getting sick again.

At least Cas would be able to heal him if that _did_ happen.

Fuck. _Cas_. Cas, who just wants to be friends and doesn’t want to know what happened the night they got drunk so that their relationship doesn’t end up changing. Jesus, but what if it changed for the better? What if they ended up as _more_ and that ends up being the best fucking thing that’s ever happened for either of them? Cas is already on that list for Dean and it’s eating him up inside that Cas said that – that he doesn’t want anything to change. It’s killing him because Dean – Mister Change Is A Bad Thing – _wants_ things between them to change. But only if it’s going to be for the better. He doesn’t want to lose Cas. It’s more like he wants to make sure he’ll always get to keep him – as a friend, as more, he doesn’t care as long as Cas sticks around in his life.

The only other things (aside from the bar) that’s remotely similar to the night he got drunk and sick is that this is all about Cas again and that he’s pawing his cell phone out ofh is pocket and speed dialing Sam before he even gets the damn thing fully open.

“What’s up, potatoe head?”

Dean frowns at the phone before putting it back to his ear. “Jess, why th’hell d’you keep answering Sammy’s phone?”

“I double as his secretary and because I run faster than him. Are you drunk? Is this about Cas again?”

“I thought y’said secretary, not _psychic_.” He grumbles, watching the sidewalk so he doesn’t trip on anything and end up breaking his face on the cement.

Jess groans and her voice changes a little, but Dean isn’t entirely sure _how_ it changes. “Oh God, dean, what did you do this time? You didn’t feel him up while he was sleeping, did you?”

“M’not _that_ big of a prick, thanks.” He grunts, kicking at a small stone and sending it skittering ahead of him. “Don’t give me th’third degree – just, where’s Sammy?”

“Speaker phone, jerk. Answer Jess’s question.”

Oh, so that’s how her voice had changed. Fuck. Now he’s being double teamed and not even in the good away – and that had only happened once with a set of girls who looked suspiciously like twins that one time he and his dad had stayed in Las Vegas and John had been out talking with some of his contacts. Dean sighs and drops onto a bus bench. The motel is across the street, but he likes being outside right now. This town is pretty small and it’s close enough to the mountains that they’ve got the forest on all sides and it reminds him of being at Cas’s place. Hell, it reminds him of Cas. Period.

“Guys, what do I do?”

“Depends on what you did.” Sam sounds serious and Dean hates it when he sounds like that, even if that’s what he needs right now.

But how the hell is he supposed to just _say_ what the problem is when he can barely even _think_ about it without cringing and wanting to go back to the bar until he can’t even crawl to the impala. Worst of all is that it’s like he’s sitting on some kind of fence. On one side he actually doesn’t mind feeling like this because he really does like Cas and it’s not all that surprising to figure out that he _more_ than likes him. Then on the other side he’s fucking terrified because _what does he even do_?

“Dean?” Sam sounds worried now. “What happened?”

Maybe he can just hint at it without actually having to put it into actual words. Yeah. That sounds like a good plan. Here goes.

“How’d y’know that Jess was the one?”

“Oh my God.” Jess hisses in the background.

It’s no big secret that Sam wants to marry her. They’re basically an old married couple already and all they’re waiting on is for both of them to finish school and get decent jobs before Sam pops the question. At this point, Dean is fifty/fifty on which of them will go down on one knee first. So that’s not the part of what he said that surprised her. Jess has always been the sharper tack in that pair.

“You’re in love with him.” She finishes.

Sam makes a choked noise, like he’s only just figuring that out right now. Maybe he did. A question like that from Dean would shock anyone he knows into temporary stupidity. He’s asked similar things of Sam before that have rendered him a momentary mute. Although, this might be the granddaddy of all things shocking that he’s ever asked.

“Dean?” Sam finally gets out something and all it is in Dean’s name. Yeah, that’s where Dean can see where the several thousands of dollars a year go for his schooling.

He sighs and tilts his head back to stare at the stars. “I dunno. Maybe.” Oh _there’s_ the Dean he knows and loves. Non-committal. Just like he should be.

“Don’t puss out, Winchester.” Jess snaps and he nearly flinches away from the phone. As awesome as she is, she’s sometimes fucking _terrifying._ If he keeps being vague, she might invent a way to reach through the phone and smack some sense into him. “Are you or aren’t you?”

“I dunno.” He repeats and she makes a loud, angry noise. Before Jess gets out anything else, Dean keeps talking. “What’s it feel like?”

They’re both too quiet for too long and Dean sighs again. Closing his eyes and fighting away the little memories that are acting like they’ve got a mosh pit in his brain, fighting to get to the front so he’ll think about what Cas’s hand felt like fisted in his shirt against his back, or the way his wing felt heavy and warm on top of the sleeping bag, or how Cas hugged him with his _wings_ instead of his arms when they said their goodbyes.

Fuck. This phone call is _not_ having the result he was hoping for when he made it. At this rate, they’re probably going to have him start talking about _feelings_ and as drunk as he is, he’s pretty sure he’s not _that_ drunk. All Dean wants is for someone to tell him what he’s supposed to do. He’s sort of already decided not to tell Cas and just keep the status quo as it is. Cas is happy with their relationship right now, and Dean is beyond happy with it too – even if he knows that he wants more than that now.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning, Dean?” Jess offers slowly and he doesn’t like how it kind of sounds like pity. “What made you realize that you might be –”

They want him to talk about Cas. Okay, he can do that. He can talk about Cas till the cows come home – as long as he remembers that he’s not supposed to say anything about Cas being an Angel or living alone in the forest with a bigass guardian made out of wood and magic and who the fuck knows what else. Dean starts with telling them about what Cas was doing when the realization ran him over like a cement truck. He stumbles over his words and he’s not all the elegant with telling them that he hasn’t had sex since he met Cas and he doesn’t even mind it because thinking about doing it with anyone else right now just makes him feel sick because he wants someone else – someone he can’t have and that kind of sucks but he doesn’t even care because he actually enjoys Cas’s company.

Dean doesn’t even pay attention to what’s coming out of his mouth. He’s got a filter slapped in place for anything Angel-ish, but everything else is just words that string together and boil down to one fact. Cas is fucking awesome. He’s practically Dean’s polar opposite sometimes but they still fit together like cogs in a clock. He has Dean trying and doing things he usually wouldn’t and Dean _enjoys_ it – he actually has a good time because he likes spending time with him. Cas helped Dean realize that he likes cooking and they experiment and have fun with it and he’s learning so much from him that he _wants_ to learn more.

By the time he’s done the verbal diarrhea, Dean’s throat hurts and he’s tired. The door of his motel room across the street is looking might inviting and the phone in his hand feels heavy. He’d really like to crawl into bed and sleep for a thousand years now, before he leaves Idaho for another month. It’s not his favourite state, but it’s got one of his favourite people in it and he’d rather turn around and go hang out with Cas some more instead of having to go to Bobby’s before heading out on a manhunt because his dad is a giant douchebag and ditches his kids without even _talking_ to them.

“Are you _sure_ he only wants to be _just_ friends?” Sam asks slowly. “Maybe he wants it too but he doesn’t think that _you_ want it?”

“But didn’t you say that Cas flat out said he didn’t want their relationship to change?” Jess adds and that starts a heated little debate between them that Dean doesn’t even know what their talking about. He’d really prefer just going to bed right now.

“Dean?” Sam sounds annoyed now. “Dean, are you listening?”

“No.” He grumbles, sliding further in his seat on the bench. “I wanna go t’bed now.”

“You do that, but we want you to call Cas in the morning.” Jess sounds a little nicer, but that might just be wishful thinking. If she sounds nice, then maybe they’ll let him go to sleep soon. “It’ll probably be too hard for you to talk to him about it in person, but you should be able to nut up and at least ask him about it over the phone. You guys talk a whole bunch as it is that it shouldn’t be that hard for you to mention it and find out what he’d think about it.”

Dean muffles a groan and thumps the back of his head against the back of the bench. “Y’want me t’talk to Cas about _feelings_.”

“Yes, we want you to be a big boy.” Sam still sounds too firm and Dean hates it. He’s the big brother, not Sam. Their roles shouldn’t be reversed like this. “And if you don’t, I’m going to find out where Cas lives and I’ll drive out there and _make_ you do it. This is one of those once in a life time things – you having an emotional epiphany like that – and I’ll be damned if I let you fuck it up.”

“Y’don’t get it, Sammy.” He struggles to sit up straight and get to his feet. Now he’s just getting annoyed with them. This isn’t the advice he was looking for. Which was fucking stupid of him because this is the exact same thing Sam told him to do the last time he called for advice. “Cas and me wouldn’t work out. He’s a – and I’m a – and dad –”

Jess makes a loud, angry noise. “I’m sorry, Dean, I know you practically worship the ground John walks on, but he’s a bastard. Have you even told him that you’ve made a new friend? I bet you haven’t. And you want to know why? Because you’re terrified he’ll change how he thinks about you. You’re his goddamn _kid_ and you can’t even tell him that you’re bi –”

“Jess, leave it alone.” Sam cuts her off. Their dad is just as sore a topic with Jess as the Angel hunting thing is. “Dean, listen to me. Dad has zero say on what you do with _your_ life. Just _talk_ to Cas. You don’t even have to talk to him about how you feel. Use hypothetical situations or make it seem like you’re talking about a book or a TV show or something. Find out what he thinks about that and go with it.”

Dean barely remembers to look both ways before he crosses the street. “I’ll think about it.”

Again with the noncommittal statements. He’s damn good at those and he’s pretty damn sure that he’s not going to talk to Cas about it. If he doesn’t talk to Cas about it, then he doesn’t have to deal with anything that might be even remotely like rejection. It’s the whole chance that Cas might say ‘no’ that guarantees Dean isn’t opening his mouth to him about it. He’s rather keep it to himself than risk Cas being uncomfortable enough that Dean has _feelings_ for him and losing this friendship.

That’s another thing Cas has kind of changed in him. Dean’s never been blatantly selfish, but he has had his moments. This isn’t one of them. He knows that their friendship means a hell of a lot to Cas and he doesn’t want to somehow ruin this for him just because he can’t keep his damn emotions under control.

“Just – Dean, don’t screw yourself over. Please, just try talking to him.” Sam sounds resigned, like he already knows Dean’s decision. He does know him better than most people.

“I’ll think about it.” He repeats, mumbling something else that might be translated to something like a ‘goodbye’, but he doesn’t care – too tired, too much hurt in his chest and his head. Now he just wants to sleep and hopefully he’ll be able to do that without thinking about how Cas hadn’t even tried to talk his way out of sleeping next to him last night.

The drunken haze in his brain definitely helps him sleep that night. Dean wakes up still fully dressed, wearing his boots, and with a pounding headache he’s convinced that he deserves. He still takes a few Tylenol with his coffee. Yesterday he’d washed the car and won the gas money before he got smashed, so now there’s nothing really keeping him here. The trip to Bobby’s is long and filled with thinking about things he doesn’t want to think about. Dean tries to keep those thoughts away by blasting his tapes and singing along as loud as he can. It doesn’t do much for his hang over, but at least then he’s not thinking about how fucking _awesome_ it would be if Cas _did_ want more.

He’s still a handful of hours away from Bobby’s by nightfall and rather than drive through in the dark to get there in the middle of the night again, Dean pulls over in a sleepy little town and finds another dive to waste his hours in. Drinking himself stupid again helps him get to sleep that night after cleaning up at the pool tables.

Bobby doesn’t look happy when Dean pulls up the next afternoon. He tears into Dean the moment he’s out of the car, going off on him for not calling and how he had to find out from _Sam_ that he was sick out of his head in the middle of fucking nowhere. At least he doesn’t say anything about Cas calling Sam, or even that it was Cas who was taking care of him. All he’s pissed about is that Dean didn’t call and let him know so he wouldn’t worry about not hearing from him.

“Sorry, Bobby.” Dean mumbles, not even looking at him while he pulls his bags out of the car. There’s clothes that need to be washed and he should collect the few books he’s got in Bobby’s spare room to take to Cas’s. “It wasn’t on purpose. Cas tried calling you, but he got Sam instead. Button problems.”

It’s not until he’s got a load in the washer that Bobby corners him in the living room. “I warned you not to go falling in love with an Angel, boy.”

Fucking Sam. Nair in the shampoo bottle. That’s what he’s going to do. Nair, or bleach, or _something_ to destroy his stupid hair before Dean pees on everything he loves.

He doesn’t even try to lie to Bobby. That’s about as effective as lying to John and it’ll just make Dean feel worse. Dean just shrugs and he doesn’t look at Bobby while he just gets _stared_ at. That’s the thing about Bobby. He’s gets his point out in the first sentence and then he just waits for you to break. But Dean’s already broken – he was long before this thing with Cas and he’s always known that. Something in him is broken and he just doesn’t know _what_.

Funny thing is, even just hanging out with Cas makes that feeling go away. Cas makes him feel fixed and good about himself. He makes Dean feel _good_ about himself and that’s just when they’re talking and sitting around Cas’s place together. That’s just another reason _not_ to tell Cas about how he’s starting to feel about him. He doesn’t want to lose that feeling.

Maybe Bobby sees something that Dean’s not really aware that he’s showing, but he backs off with Dean really saying anything. Bobby lets him take an early night – so early the sun is still up and Dean doesn’t care. He crawls into bed, sober for the first time since he left Cas’s, and lies awake for hours, thinking all the things that he doesn’t want to think.

The next day, it’s not long after breakfast that Bobby takes him to the part of his living room that’s been his ‘office’ for as long as Dean’s known him. He sits Dean down in a chair cleaned off of books and pulled up in front of the desk and he doesn’t even pull out the whiskey tumblers – which means that this is serious and Dean suddenly has the horrible feeling that Bobby is going to try and talk to him about love.

“What are you going to do, boy?” Bobby asks, arms crossed on the desk top once he’s sitting in his chair on the other side. “You’re best friends with an Angel and you’re a hunter. That’s going to cause some problems somewhere along the road.”

Shit. That’s yet another point Dean’s been trying not to think about. He looks down at his hands and slumps in his chair. “I can’t hunt them.”

“Figured as much. What’er you going to do then?”

“I dunno.” Dean shrugs. “I’ve got my G.E.D., but I’m not any good at anything else and hell if I’m going to flip frikken burgers at the local McDicks. All I know how to do is hunting, but I’m not learned in hunting animals or whatever.”

“Do you like hunting?”

“I never made my own kill.” Dean rubs at his chest where the tattoo is below his collarbone and above his heart. “I just helped dad catch them. I didn’t like how dad basically tortured them and –” He shrugs again and looks at the ceiling before looking at Bobby. “I don’t know. There were parts of it that I did and parts of it that I didn’t. I still want to get the bastards who killed mom, but I don’t want to have to hunt Angels anymore. I thought we were doing good, y’know? Catching and killing creatures that were hurting people. But now that I know Cas – if he’s any example of Angels, I don’t think they’re all bad. How the hell am I supposed to know if they’re good or bad when they won’t talk to me? You’re welcome to stop me any time now.”

Bobby just keeps watching him from under the brim of his baseball hat before he sits back slowly and rubs a hand over his face. “There's more to you than just hunting, boy.”

“I'm listening.”

“You're an idjit.” He grumbles, opening one of his desk drawers and dumps a big book in the cleared spot in front of Dean. “You build and designs all sorts of things and you could probably build that car of yours up from scratch if you had to. You're not Sam smart, but you're still a whole different kind of smart and there's plenty you can do.”

Dean glances down at the book before looking back up at Bobby. “Like what? I've been trained my whole life to be a hunter. I don't know how to be anything else. And if I'm going to go looking for dad to make sure he doesn't get himself killed, I'm not going to have the time to go back to school or take classes or anything like that.”

“If you do find John again, then what are you going to do?” Bobby taps at the book, head tilted like he knows something that Dean doesn't. “You going to go back to hunting Angels?”

“I already told you I can't do that and I have no idea how I'm going to explain that to dad either.”

Bobby only raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t even say anything, just gestures at the book with something that must mean ‘take a look’. Dean picks it up and gets two pages in before he looks up at Bobby, skeptical beyond all shadows of a doubt.

It takes Bobby nearly four hours of explaining and digging evidence out of the piles of crap around his house – crap Dean had always assumed was all about Angels – before he manages to convince Dean about the supernatural side of life. He shows Dean a room on the main floor that he never really paid attention to – thought it was a closet, actually – filled with a whole different set of weapons and enough salt to kill an elephant. After a walking tour through the house that Dean practically grew up in, he learns that there are symbols painted under the mats and carved into door frames where he would never even think of looking and it’s kind of blowing his mind a little.

At the same time, it’s making him happy beyond all reason.

“Why the hell didn't you tell me about this before?” Dean breathes the question, almost lost in how unreal this is as he flips through a book written in Japanese and filled with all sorts of creatures he never would have thought actually _exist_. “How come I've never heard of this other kind of hunter?”

“It wasn't important. Angel hunters are pretty much in it for revenge or they’re out for a challenge because Angel powers make them unpredictable. The supernatural? I could kill a vampire in my sleep. They're dangerous, no doubt, but they're pretty easy to handle once you know what you're doing.” Now Bobby breaks out the whiskey and pours them both something to drink.

Dean puts the book down and stands up, already fishing around in his pockets for his cell phone. “This is awesome, Bobby. I gotta tell Cas, he's gonna love it.”

Bobby's eyebrows do a little twitching thing, but he doesn't say anything as he downs his glass. He does make a little gesture for Dean to take the call out of the room and he goes, phone dialing and ringing as he heads out onto the front porch. Dean was right on the money when he thought that Cas would be happy about hearing how he’s not going to hunt Angels but turns out he was way off the mark thinking that Cas wouldn’t know about the things that go bump in the night.

And at the mention of _Demons_ , Dean gets thrown for a loop because at no point in the last four hours has he heard one mention of goddamn _Demons_. He heard about vampires, werewolves, skin walkers, shape shifters, ghosts, ghouls, and something called a wendigo. But there were no _Demons_.

Before he can even get out a ‘what the hell?’, Cas hisses something in Enochian that sound an awful lot like it might be a swear and hangs up. Dean stares at his phone before turning around, opening the door, and leaning back into the house.

“Bobby! What do you know about Demons?”

“Nothing.” He calls out from the kitchen and the fridge door thumps shut. “They don’t exist.”

That’s what he thought. Which means Cas just dropped a bomb he wasn’t supposed to and Dean is _not_ having another one of these phone-things with him again. He sits down on the top step of the porch, puts the speaker phone on, and hits redial. It takes seven redials before Cas picks up again and Dean turns the speaker off, phone going to his ear.

“You’re not pulling that crap with me again.” He spits out, not even slightly hiding how annoyed he is right now. His answer is silence – but not the kind when no one is there. “What the hell is going on, Cas? Bobby said Demons don’t exist.”

Cas makes a little noise that Dean doesn’t recognize. It’s like he’s hurt, or surprised, or both? Dean can’t tell and he wonders if it would be easier to figure out how he’s reacting if he could see him in person. It probably would be since half his reactions are in his wings and the other half are in the flowers. Oh yeah, she should remember to get a book about flower meanings. He makes another mental note about that, adding it to the growing pile of mental notes about getting one of those books. It’s not a huge deal, but he’d like to do it one day.

That noise was the only sound Cas makes and Dean has to keep himself from actually _growling_ or something. “Explain, Cas. What the hell are Demons?”

“I can’t, Dean.” He sounds small, quiet, like it’s actually hurting him to speak right now and that stamps out whatever anger Dean’s got going on pretty damn fast. “I can’t. This is our biggest secret and I’ve already said more than I ever should have.” Cas’s voice goes even softer toward the end, making it harder for Dean to hear him.

Shit. Well that makes Dean feel like an ass for being as curious as he is about it. And it makes him feel even worse when he pulls out the goddamn _blackmail._ “Cas, I’m going to be out there hunting monsters now. If there’s something bad enough out there to be labeled as a fucking _Demon_ , don’t you think I should know about it before one of those things tries to kill me?”

And there’s that little noise again, this time a little muffled.

x

Castiel covers his mouth with one hand to smother the horrified noise that tries to get out. It hadn’t even occurred to him the kind of danger that Dean would be in while hunting. He’s fully aware that the life of a hunter – of Angels or monsters – is a dangerous one. Dean carries the scars that prove it. But Castiel has never stopped to think just how bad it is. There is every possibility that Dean could _die_ on a hunt - somewhere far away and Castiel would only find out if Sam or Bobby ever thought to call him.

He’s well aware of how Dean is trying to manipulate the information out of him. Dean knows that Castiel cares about his wellbeing – he did tend to him while he was sick, after all. Castiel doesn’t particularly like what Dean is doing, but he does have a point. And just the thought that if something does happen to Dean and Castiel finds out that it was because of a Demon and he could have helped somehow – even with just giving Dean information – Castiel would hate himself.

Carefully picking his way around the materials for his mat strewn across the floor, Castiel crosses the cave to the table and the jug of water sitting out on it. He pours himself a cup and drinks it in hopes that it will wash away whatever feels like it’s clogging his throat. If he’s going to tell Dean his race’s greatest shame, then he doesn’t want to choke on the words.

“Cas?” Dean doesn’t sound demanding. He sounds worried and that stifles the annoyed anger curling low in his chest.

“Don’t ever try to use your safety to manipulate me again.” He keeps his voice flat and hard.

There’s a moment of silence before Dean speaks again, quiet and apologetic. “Sorry.”

Castiel sighs and sinks onto one of the stumps by the table, rubbing his forehead with one hand. “I’m going to tell you because you made a valid point and I want you to be properly informed on what you might end up hunting. I can only tell you if you promise not to tell another soul.” He refrains from telling Dean that he could receive a worse punishment than his self-imposed exile if his clan knew that he was sharing this information.

“Who would I tell, Cas? You and Bobby are the only people I know who even knows that this crap is real. And you’re the only one I talk to on a regular basis.”

Even though that information warms him and nearly makes him smile, Castiel insists that Dean makes the promise. He doesn’t move any further until he has Dean’s word that he won’t even tell Bobby about it. When Dean promises, he swears upon his baby and his brother that he won’t tell anyone about what Castiel is about to tell him.

It still takes quite a bit of effort and another cup of water to get himself to speak.

“In our language, they’re called Hamiamma. They’re cursed creatures –half-breeds. It’s Humans who started to call them Demons, Humans who named them as the first monsters. And they’re our children.” He practically whispers the words. “They’re the result of mating between Hamiaah and Humans. A Human child with Hamiaah powers. Not all of them are bad, Dean. Please understand that. There are many of them that live peacefully in our clans with their parents.”

Dean doesn’t interrupt. He listens as Castiel explains that the half-breeds are considered cursed because they will never fly. They’re the children of Hamiaah yet they’re bound to the ground while one of their parents can soar and it’s considered a curse to have that. No Hamiamma has ever been born with wings to date. The word ‘Demon’ is derived from the name of the first half-breed child who was jealous of the Hamiaah and their wings and used their powers to hurt many – Human and Hamiaah alike.

“But why is it some big secret?” Dean asks when Castiel stops for another cup of water. “So what if one kid fucked up. That’s nothing new – history is full of kids growing up and fucking up.”

“We’re ashamed of how our blood is tainted.” He rests his elbow on the table top, face hidden in his hand. “It’s the Hamiaah blood that doesn’t mix with Humans and when a Hamiamma mates, the next generation is disfigured. Their children are the very animals that you’re going to be hunting. Hamiaah and Humans beget Hamiamma and no matter what a Hamiamma mates with, their children will be monsters.”

“If I’m getting this right, you’re saying that the grandchild of an Angel could be a vampire?”

“Yes. Our powers taint the blood and the mind. Even some Hamiamma go mad by the time their adults. It took us too long to realize what was happening – and by then it was too late. There were Hamiamma spread throughout the world and their children grow quickly. They’re just as cursed as the Hamiamma.” Castiel’s folds his wings tightly against his back, curving them over his shoulders slightly.

Dean is quiet again and his voice remains controlled when he speaks. “How come Humans don’t know about this?”

“Many of your kind already hate us for our powers. We keep this hidden so you won’t hate us more and so the general populace can live in their blissful ignorance.” Castiel rubs at his forehead again, hoping this information isn’t what will make Dean leave him altogether. “Hamiaah do their best to right it, but we’re limited by how we can handle it. Life is precious to us and even though we could wipe these creatures out with our abilities, it could cause the calamities that you blame us for and we don’t want to do that.”

“Cas.” Dean interrupts sharply and Castiel’s wings flare out at the edge to his voice. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His wings shift uncomfortably against his back, feathers shuffling. “There are Hamiaah who hate Humans for what your race is doing to the Earth and they aren’t shy. But it takes the pooled power of many Hamiaah to create the disasters you blame us for. The Human haters aren’t strong enough to do it on their own.”

“Shit.” Dean hisses while Castiel takes a breath and continues.

“Most of what you blame us for are just natural disasters and have nothing to do with Hamiaah or Hamiamma. Everything else is caused by Hamiamma retaliating against Hamiaah soldiers trying to get them to stop.”

“Stop what?” Dean sounds breathless, the words escaping on an exhale.

“We don’t know. The Hamiamma live as long as we do and we’re not sure how they keep replenishing their numbers, but they’ve been grouping together and spawning their monster children like an army. It’s what they’ve been doing for centuries – infecting the world.” He stands up and starts walking from one side of the salman to the other. It’s getting hard to hold still when he starts talking about the war. “Hamiaah have been at war with Hamiamma since the dark ages for multiple reasons.”

Dean swears again and there’s a loud thump in the background that’s followed with another long string of curses – this time centered on his hand. It takes a few minutes for him to calm down enough to ask another question. “Cas, are you saying that Angel hunters are hunting the good guys?”

“Only if you don’t hold us responsible for all the monsters in the world.”

“ _Fuck._ ” He nearly shouts and there’s another bang. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why the hell don’t you guys _say_ anything? How many Angels die just because you won’t fucking tell us that you’re on our side? That it’s not your fault and it’s some fucking – _goddammit._ ”

“Dean –”

“I _told_ you what happened to my mom. I told you about the whole fucking storm and how we heard about a group of Angels nearby.”

Castiel stops pacing, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. He knows what Dean is after, the question he isn’t asking, and he’s not going to like the answer. “They were probably a raiding party sent to fight Hamiamma. The Hamiamma’s powers were likely what caused the storm. They’re much more liberal with their abilities and they don’t care who gets hurt in the process. Hamiaah are usually the only ones who get noticed since Hamiamma look just like Humans.”

“Son of a _bitch!_ ”

There’s a burst of crackling noise, like wind hitting the phone, and then silence. Castiel has long since learned to recognize the difference between the silence when Dean isn’t speaking, and the silence with his phone is turned off. This is the latter and it sends pain stabbing between his ribs, twisting tightly behind his sternum.

He sits heavily on the othil and stares at the phone in his hand, only pressing the red button when it starts to make the slow beeping tone that Dean once explained to him meant that he had to end the call. Castiel had expected Dean to be upset by the news, but he hadn’t thought that he would simply hang up like that. Does this mean that he’s angry with Castiel for keeping all of this a secret? Or is he angry with himself for blaming the wrong people his whole life?

What if he doesn’t call back? What if he doesn’t want to talk to him again?

Castiel’s wings curl up and forward, meeting above his head and forming a dark cave before him. He hugs his knees to his chest and continues to stare at the phone, plagued by the fear that he somehow just managed to alienate the one person in this world he considers his friend.

When the phone rings again a few minutes later, it starts Castiel enough that his wings snap out, knocking over the decorate branch and coloured stones sitting on the stump next to the othil and making his mat frame crash into the wall. He fumbles to press the green button and get the phone to his ear before the ringing stops.

“Sorry.” Dean says immediately, but he doesn’t sound happy. “I broke my fucking phone.”

“How did you –”

“I got mad and I threw it, okay? And then I’m so used to using speed dial when I call you that I don’t remember the number and I had to get Bobby to find it so I could call you back and make sure you’re not being a dumbass and thinking that we’re not going to be friends anymore because of that.”

Castiel’s feathers twitch and fluff up in surprise, doubling the size of his wings. He wasn’t aware Dean knew him well enough for him to know that’s how he would react. Dean huffs a quiet laugh and his voice changes, losing the hard edge of anger to it.

“You were freaking out, weren’t you?”

“I don’t _freak out_.”

Dean laughs again. “No, you just get moody and depressed.”

“At least I don’t throw things.” That gets him another laugh and a small smile starts to edge its way onto Castiel’s lips. He likes it when he can make Dean laugh.

“Touché. Hey – um, sorry. About exploding.” Dean starts out slowly, awkwardly. “I’m still pretty pissed about a lot of things you just told me – and no, I’m not mad at _you_. I just – I’ve potentially been hunting the wrong people my whole life and that’s – Learning how _wrong_ we are is just –” He sighs heavily and the last words are spoken so quietly that he isn’t sure if he was meant to hear them. “When are you going to stop turning me on my head?”

Castiel doesn’t have an answer for that, but he has the feeling that what Dean needs right now is a change of topic. “I would like to help you.” It’s not a very _big_ change of topic, but at least it might get his mind off Hamiaah. “I’ve hunted many monsters in my life and I likely know more about them and Hamiamma than anything Bobby could teach you.”

That does seem to brighten Dean’s mood. “Sure, that’d be awesome, Cas. Bobby wants me to stick around for the next few weeks so he can teach me everything that he knows. How about I fill you in on what I learn and you can edit at will?”

“Will you call every night then to tell me what you’ve learned from him during the day?”

There’s a moment’s hesitation that makes something fluttery pulse through his chest. “I could, if you want me to.”

“You don’t have to.” Castiel amends quickly. “It just makes the most sense.”

“Then I’ll do that. After Bobby’s all good and satisfied with my monster schooling, I could come out to visit you again before I start hunting and looking for dad.” Dean is starting to sound excited again. “And then when I’m there you can teach me about Hamiamma.”

Hearing Dean use an Enochian term without stumbling or mispronunciation is as surprising as the rush of heatthat fills him. Castiel’s wings fan out behind him again as gardenia spread across the floor, interspersed with clumps of red and yellow roses. His free hand twists in the fur of his wrap and Castiel licks his lips – they suddenly feel too dry.

“How come you’re able to say hah-meh-ah-mah without issue, but you can’t so othil?”

“Because it’s a couch. Not a lilly-thing.”

“Oh-tah-hi-el. Nothing about that sounds like lil-ee.”

Dean laugh echoes through the phone again. “Don’t you have a mat to make or something?”

“Don’t you have things you should be learning?”                                                                           

“We’re going to start tomorrow. Bobby wants to draw up some kind of lesson plan today and he’s making a list of all the new kinds of weapons and things I’m going to need so I’m going to spend the rest of the evening figuring out what I can use from my current stuff. Hey – how come monsters don’t like salt? And what about ghosts? Are they grandkids too?”

Castiel gets up to fix the things he knocked over before. “Ghosts are spirits of the dead. They are something else entirely, but they dislike salt just as much as the monsters because salt purifies. It hurts their tainted blood.”

Dean makes a humming noise, like he’s thinking. “Remind me to talk to you more about that later. I think you’re different insight is going to really come in handy when I start making weapons.”

“If you need any suggestions or bases to work up from, I can tell you about what we use.”

“That’ll be awesome. Add that to the list of things we’ll talk about tomorrow. Right now my stomach’s grumbling and if I’m going to be busy for the next few hours, I want to eat now.”

He refrains from asking what Dean’s going to be eating and he buries the trembling worry that tries to rise up at what terrible Human foods Dean might end up eating. Their goodbye gets drawn out as Dean comes up with more questions and Castiel keeps answering. They only end the call when Bobby starts shouting at Dean to get back to eat or get back to work.

Between his duties with the forest, making mats in preparation for winter, Silvanus visiting and helping Castiel clear a path wide enough for Dean’s vehicle to go from the road to a clearing that they line with sand taken from the beach, and talking with Dean every night, Castiel’s days go by quickly. Although discussion about Dean’s education on what he calls the ‘supernatural’ takes up the majority of their calls, they do spend quite a bit of time talking about the books that Castiel is reading or about other things happening during their day.

The closer they get to the day that Dean will come for his visit, the more excited Dean becomes with every call. One of their conversations had centered on weapons and been such a long discussion that the battery on Castiel’s phone had died before they were done. The chance to design new weapons or modify his old ones has Dean thrilled beyond reason and he seems particularly enthusiastic about showing Castiel what he’s done so far and the plans he has for new ones.

It’s during one of their nightly conversations a few days before Dean is scheduled to be leaving Bobby’s that Castiel realizes that his markings are faded. He’s not sure if it’s a mistake or not when he mentions this to Dean.

“I’ll have to repaint them before you get here.” Castiel comments distractedly, more focused on completing the last few rows of the mat he’s currently working on.

“Don’t.” Dean says immediately and Castiel’s hands pause, the phone pinned between his shoulder and ear. “I wanna see how you do it. Could you wait until I’m there to repaint them?”

That _heat_ starts curling under Castiel’s skin again, like a blush he can’t get rid of. It spreads from his chest and draws tingling lines through his body, chasing hot-cold chills across his ribs and down his spine. The ritual surrounding the painting of the symbols is something usually done in private. It’s not considered overtly rude or weird to have someone watch, but there’s something _different_ when Castiel thinks about _Dean_ watching. It makes his throat go dry, his heart speeds up, and his wings shuffle against his back.

At least he hasn’t asked to actually _help_ with the ritual. That would be a line that Castiel would have to draw and he’s not sure how he would be able to explain to Dean that the ritual is one done alone or done with a lover – and usually only with a permanent mate after they’ve had the marriage ceremony. At least that’s Castiel’s preference. It’s what his parent had taught him and he was surprised to find that not everyone believed in that when he had moved to live with the clan after their deaths.

His silence must be too long for Dean’s comfort. When Castiel focuses again, Dean is nearly babbling a long apology. He sounds embarrassed and Castiel can easily imagine the red flush in his cheeks and how it would creep down his neck and into his ears. It’s endearing and makes him smile as he starts working on the mat again. With a single noise, Castiel shushes him and Dean falls silent immediately.

“If you really want to see, I can wait.”

“I’m not breaking some kind of huge Angel rule by asking that, am I?”

“No, you’re not. I was simply surprised. You haven’t expressed interest in my markings since I told you about them.”

Dean makes a snorting laugh of a sound. “And you didn’t even explain what they all were. Don’t start with the lecture about protecting the clan. I already know all about that so I’m not even going to ask. Not that I understand how knowing what a symbol means is going to put them in danger or something.”

Castiel has nothing to add and all he does is hum a sound that shows Dean he’s listening. His thoughts are more focused on what precautions he should take to make sure he doesn’t spend the entire ritual blushing and distracted by how Dean will be watching him closely. It’s not the fact that he’ll only be wearing his qaa that makes him shift uncomfortably while he thinks about the ritual, only half listening to Dean as he talks about the box of books he’s going to be bringing. He’s completely comfortably with his body and he sees nothing wrong with not wearing any other clothing in front of Dean.

What Castiel’s treacherous mind keeps doing, making it harder and harder to listen to Dean’s words, is bringing up images of _Dean_ painting the markings for him. Each new image and the phantom sensation of the dye drying on his skin, put there by Dean, sends the heat spiraling through him at a dizzying speed. He’s almost ashamed by how he’s not even sure what the rest of their conversation was actually about by the time he turns off the phone and puts it down.

Hopefully he’ll be able to get this fanciful notions out of his head before Dean arrives.

x

Dean spends half the drive to Cas’s place excited out of his head about getting to see how he does his weird henna-tattoos, and the other half is spent thinking about what he and Bobby had talked about before he left. After his first talk with Cas about the Hamiamma and the supernatural, Dean wasn’t actually all that surprised to find out that Bobby first learned about monsters from an Angel.

It took some creative wording on Dean’s part to figure out that Bobby doesn’t know shit all about Demons. The Angel that Bobby learned about it from had that bargained for their life with the information about worse creatures and Bobby had let them go, done some more research and stumbled upon a whole network of different hunters. From what Dean can tell, he doesn’t know that Angels actually hunt all that stuff too and that they don’t cause all the bad things that they’re blamed for. If he hadn’t promised Cas that he wouldn’t breathe a word about Hamiamma to anyone, Dean would have told Bobby then and there about them. Maybe if he did that, then Bobby would be able to help spread the word and stop Angel hunting entirely.

Of course Dean’s still struggling with trying to accept that. Cas hasn’t lied to him before and Dean doesn’t have any kind of reason not to believe him, but it’s still hard to accept something when you’ve believe the opposite your whole life. It should probably worry him that he’s not actually struggling all that hard. Maybe it has something to do with thinking back over every kill he’s seen his dad make and realizing that the way the Angels looked at them then makes a lot of what Cas said make sense.

The only thing still really bugging him is why Bobby never told him – or John – about the supernatural. Dean’s known him his whole life and Bobby never said a damn thing about it even though he admitted to learning about it when Dean was a preteen. Bobby started hunting with John but he decided to set up the network instead of just outright hunting the way his dad does. He used to do that, but Dean’s pretty sure that even though Bobby loved his mom, he was never comfortable with outright killing Angels the way John does.

The whole thing leaves something like a bad taste in his mouth and Dean would rather think about hanging out with Cas than that. It’s been a little under a month since the last time he saw him and Dean’s not entirely sure what all those feelings he’s managed to bury are going to do. He hopes to hell that they don’t come back in full force and do something stupid like punch him in the gut. Actually, that would be better than being smacked over the head with that goddamn _want_ – like wanting to touch, to kiss, to blurt out three little words he hasn’t said to anyone since his mom died.

Zeus strike him down if that ever just _slips_ out.

By the time he stops for gas in town, it’s already pushing well into the evening. Cas is actually expecting him to arrive in the morning, but there’s still a handful of hours left to the day and Dean _really_ wants to see him. It’s like an itch in his bones or something and he doesn’t give a shit that it’s a few hours at least until he’ll even get to the boulder that marks his unofficial parking spot, not to mention the hike it’ll take to get to Cas’s place. Shit, but if he does leave tonight, then he’s going to be making the hike in the dark and Cas will probably chew him out for wandering around in the forest at night.

Maybe he wouldn’t mind so much if Dean was courteous enough to make a phone call before he left the car and Cas could meet him halfway or something. It’ll be a nice surprise and that way Dean won’t have to walk alone or carry all the shit to the house by himself. And then he could spend the night on Cas’s couch with Cas nearby – maybe he could even convince Cas to sleep next to the couch (or even _on_ the couch with him) – and that might make the stupid itch go away.

Or maybe he shouldn’t have Cas anywhere near the couch while he’s sleeping because that is beyond counterproductive to burying all these little feelings and things that he has for Cas. Not to mention that Dean doesn’t trust himself in his sleep. Who knows what cuddling catastrophes might happen.

Fuck it. He’s too close to Cas now to even think of spending the night in town. Dean can pool shark when he leaves. Right now, he wants to spend as much time with Cas as he can and he kind of really wants to see what Cas’s tattoos look like when they’re all faded. He doesn’t really know what else to call them and ‘markings’ just sounds kind of weird to him. ‘Tattoos’ just _fits_.

By the time he pulls up next to the boulder, any thought of calling Cas goes out the window – specifically the window that he rolls down. Cas is sitting on top of the boulder, one wing curved forward and under his arm while he combs his fingers through the feathers. Dean has to kick start a ‘not jealous’ mantra in the back of his head and he just tightens his hold on the steering wheel to help ignore the way his own fingers twitch because holy _shit_ he wants to touch Cas’s wings. They’re soft and strong and gorgeous and Cas’s ears always go red when he touches them and it’s kind of the really fucking cute.

Goddammit.

Dean mentally hog ties all those thoughts, nails a coffin around them, tosses it into a bottomless pit and Hercules lifts a boulder bigger than the one Cas is sitting on to plug the opening to that pit. They’re not helping his whole ‘get over Cas’ thing.

He leans his head out the window. “How’d you know I was coming?”

Cas slides from the boulder with a kind of grace Dean is pretty sure no Human can replicate. “The forest told me. You should have called if you were going to be coming tonight.”

“Last minute decision.” Dean shrugs, putting the car in park and reaching for the keys. “I didn’t want to stay in town tonight.” That’s close enough to the truth that it doesn’t feel like he’s lying.

“Don’t stop here.” Cas taps the roof of the car and Dean looks up. “I would like you to follow me.”

He’s ducking away from the car and jogging ahead into the path of the high beams before Dean can ask what’s going on. Cas is a lot faster than Dean gives him credit for and he fumbles to get the shift back into drive so he can follow him. It’s just a little ways more up the road (if you can even call it that) to the point where it starts curving again. Dean’s never been this far along it and he’s kind of surprised when Cas stops by a tree that grows kinda sideways, it’s branches crisscrossing down toward the ground.

Dean stops and leans forward over the wheel, squinting through the dark to watch what Cas is doing. It’s still pretty fucking surprising when Cas actually makes the tree _move_ and he’s pretty sure that’s something he’s never going to get used to. The whole thing stands up straight and with the branches out of the way, Dean can see it was blocking a sandy path wide enough for the impala to squeak through.

Cas stands in front of the tree and gestures for Dean to drive through. The moment he’s off the main road (which still isn’t much of a road, in Dean’s fine opinion) and out of the way, Cas makes the tree move back into place. Instead of running ahead. Instead of jogging ahead like before, Cas walks between the trees lining the sand path and he’s keeping up just fine because Dean is practically crawling. He’ll be damned before he tries to speed along this path and risk hurting his baby.

The whole thing – which is ridiculously long, or feels like it is because he’s going at snail speed – ends in a circular clearing that, from Dean’s point of view behind the wheel and going by his headlights alone, looks like it’s kind of in a basin type thing. He’s not a geographer or whatever they’re called, up the ground does dip a little toward the center when he pulls around along the edge before parking on the far side of the clearing from where he entered it. There’s no rock walls or anything, so he’s pretty sure that they’re not anywhere near the cliff by Cas’s house, but he really can’t be sure. The forest at night and even just moving down the road a little ways is messing with his sense of direction.

He’s barely even out of the car before Cas is right there in front of him and Dean nearly swallows his damn tongue. Cas’s wings are blending in with the dark, lined with moonlight and it’s like something out of a Twilight movie. Dean doesn’t move and the only part of Cas that does are his wings, spreading and curving forward. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on and Dean should curb that grin before it gets any bigger.

“You looking for a hug, Cas?”

Damn him. Damn him and his big, dumb mouth.

The interior lights from the impala are really the only thing to see by out here and with Dean standing between that and Cas, Dean can barely see his face. But he can read the shape of his shoulders, the way he goes tense, and how his wings start pulling back and fuck if Dean’s going to be the asshole who embarrassed Cas out of probably the only physical contact he’s gotten in fifty years.

This time is a little different. This time Dean slips his arms under Cas’s, going for his waist instead of his shoulders. He slides his arms up until he can feel where Cas’s wings join his back, the joints pressing against his forearms. Now Cas has the choice of either letting his arms dangle awkwardly over Dean’s, or he can hug back with his arms around Dean’s shoulders. Either way, he’s got his cheek against the side of Cas’s head and it’s like hugging a miniature sun that smells like dew and dirt and the forest. He’s so fucking warm that Dean kind of wishes he’d have him sharing the bed his has at Bobby’s when it’s winter time – it’s the draftiest room in the house and sometimes he has to wear double socks to keep his toes from falling off.

It’s another nail out of the coffin he’s buried his feelings in when Cas finally moves. The hug is long past a socially acceptable length but Dean isn’t going to pull away when Cas is _just_ starting to actually hug back. His wings are already fully closed around them, so it’s not like Dean can just back away easily – not that he even wants to. Warning lights keep flashing in the back of his head and Dean ignores that in favour of memorizing the weight of Cas’s arms on his shoulders, how he can feel his hands fisting in the fabric of his jacket just below the collar, and the little scrape of stubble against the side of his neck when Cas’s hold goes a little tighter.

Dean will _not_ notice that they’re hip to hip. He will not notice that they’re hip to hip. He won’t, he won’t, he won’t, he _won’t_ – okay! Time to step back or Cas might get the impression that hugs are five minute deals. All it takes is clearing his throat and loosening his arms a little and Cas gets the idea. With a few feet between them and it’s easier to breathe and easier for Dean to slap a cocky grin on his face.

“We talked practically every night. You can’t have been missing me that much.” Duct tape. He’s going to get some fucking duct tape and wrap a whole roll over his stupid mouth.

Cas’s wings hunch over his shoulder slightly and Dean can’t really see more than shadows on the ground, but he’s pretty sure there are flowers sprouting up around them. Dollars to donuts says it’s those pee-somethings.

“Talking to you over the phone and seeing you in person are two very different things.” Cas says it soft enough Dean nearly misses it.

Too bad he doesn’t. There’s another nail out of the coffin and what the hell happened to the boulder and the pit? Fuck, he so wasn’t ready for this. A month of trying to corral his fucking emotions was _not_ enough time.

“Yeah, I get that.” _Duct tape_. “So, where are we?”

“Silvanus and I made a place for you to keep your vehicle when you visit. I didn’t have enough time to build a shelter too, but if –” Cas stumbles to a stop with his words for a second before he starts again a little more cautiously. “But when you visit next time, I should have one prepared.”

That calls for another hug and Dean _wants_ to but at the same time his brain is saying ‘no’ loud enough to hurt. His traitorous body apparently isn’t listening because he pulls Cas in for another quick hug, stepping back just as fast but keeping his hands on his shoulders. “That’s awesome, Cas! Thanks!”

That’s a smile. Dean can barely see it but he _knows_ that’s a fucking smile around the murmur of a ‘you’re welcome’. Cas’s wings flex against his back for a moment before he clears his throat and talks again. “Because of how it’s hidden, you’ll need to call me before you arrive.”

“No more surprise visits, huh?”

“Not unless you’d rather hike from the road.”

“How come the forest keeps telling you where I am?”

Cas doesn’t answer that question, but Dean’s suspicious squint catches a shrug in the dark as Cas shuffles past him to pull open the backseat of the car. “Let’s take your things back. It’s a shorter walk from here, but it’s still late and I would like to get an early start tomorrow. The dye takes a while to dry and set in and I don’t want to waste the whole day sitting around waiting for it.”

That gets Dean moving. He grabs his backpack full of clothes while Cas takes the duffle stuffed with food and the reusable shopping bag full of books. The last thing Dean takes out of the car is the little travel cooler with all the grain fed, free range, organic what-have-you meat. He follows Cas out of the sandy clearing, taking a stone lined path up the steepest side of the basin. In under ten minutes they hit a path that they follow to the game trail Dean knows. It’s the same little rundown path between the trees that goes straight to Cas’s house and they get there in _way_ less than half the time it would usually have taken if he’d hiked from the boulder.

“You’re a godsend, Cas.” He says the moment they’re through the hanging moss and vines, going straight for the cooler by the fire pit to unload the meat. “That was so close to here, I might cry.”

He doesn’t get an answer, but Cas does duck his head modestly as he puts the bags on the table. It’s not too warm inside the house and Dean glances around while Cas starts unpacking the books, checking each title as he takes it out of the bag. There’s a few candles in the middle of the table this time and the wall opposite the fire, over the couch, is lit up with glowing mushrooms again. The fire is banked for the night and Dean is pretty sure that Cas was getting ready to go to bed before the forest mojo kicked in.

What gets him the most and sets a fire under the urge to hug again is what’s on the couch. His sleeping bag and pillow are already laid out and waiting for him. A whole night before he was technically supposed to get here and Cas already had his bed set up for him. Nail number three gets tossed in the trash with the others and Dean doesn’t even know how many are left.

They spend a grand total of ten minutes putting things in their place before they both turn in for the night. Dean spends who knows how long on his side, staring at the back of the couch and listening to the sound of the fire and Cas breathing and shifting in his nest. Even with that hornet’s nest buzzing in his chest, Dean still finds it _really_ fucking comfortable to be out in the forest again with everything that reminds him of Cas. It’s nice, peaceful, relaxing – and when he’s finally out, he’s _out_. Dead to the world until he wakes up to a crash and a loud hiss.

Dean is on his feet before he’s even fully awake, looking around and squinting against just how fucking _bright_ it is in the tree tipi. “What, what is it? What’s happening? Cas!”

“It’s nothing, Dean.” Cas’s voice is coming from the other side of the table.

He has to blink the sleep out of his eyes before he can focus enough to see. Cas is kneeling on the floor and there’s a pot of oatmeal dumped on the floor and two cloths in the mess. Both of his hands are held loose against his chest and it’s the _way_ Cas is holding them that tips Dean off to everything being not quite kosher.

“What happened?” He’s wide awake and around the table, squatting next to Cas without a damn care that he’s in his boxers and a sleeveless-tee. That gnawing concern in the pit of his belly is kind of overtaking everything right now. One of Cas’s wing tries folding over his shoulder like a black, feathery barrier and Dean shoves it back and out of the way. “Don’t even try that. How the hell did you burn _both_ of your hands?”

Cas lifts his head enough to glare at him. “I didn’t hold the cloths properly.”

“And you didn’t notice?” He reaches out and grabs Cas’s wrists, going into his default caregiver mode. “Let me see.”

There’s no fight when he pulls them closer to look. Cas uncurls his hands enough for Dean to see the angry red burn along the insides of a few fingers on each hand. “I was distracted.”

“With what?” Dean stands up and pulls Cas with him, directing him toward one of the stump-stools. “Sit.” He’s halfway across the room to his bag when he turns around again. “Why don’t you just heal it?”

“I am.” Cas is watching him, head tilted as he puts his hands palm up on the table top. “Either I use a large amount of power to fix them now, which would tire me for most of the day and I would likely end up wasting the dye I mixed while the oatmeal is cooking – of I heal them slowly without tiring myself out. It’ll only be an hour, maybe two, before my hands will be fine.”

“Well, I’m still going to bandage them then.” Dean shrugs and gets the first aid kit from his backpack. “Don’t complain. It’s going to sit better with me if you let me take care of those now instead of making me sit here for two hours staring at you staring at your hands.”

Cas just shrugs and turns to face him, holding his hands out for Dean to do his thing. First he gets a owl of cool water from the spring and makes Cas hold his hands in that while he gets what he needs from the kit. That includes a bottle of Cas-approved aloe gel, and a roll of gauze. Dean uses a towel to dry his hands before he gentle smears the aloe over the red blisters. Cas watches what he does closely and Dean tries _really_ hard not to be floored by getting to touch Cas’s hands. Repeatedly.

After the last strip of gauze is tied of, Dean pats Cas’s wrists and grins up at him from where he’s been kneeling next to the stump he’s sitting on. His mouth runs off with his brain again somewhere after he decides to stand up and start packing up the kit. “You don’t need me to kiss those better, do you?”

Dean is going to shoot himself before the week is over. This is a _fact_ because he goddamn mouth can’t just _stop_ for five frikken minutes.

There’s a burst of orange lilies that spread out across the table top and around Dean’s feet as his answer. He looks up and Cas’s eyes are doing their best interpretation of dinner-plates. Despite that and the puffed wings, his voice manages to stay flat and toneless. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what? Kissing booboos better?” Dean shuts the first aid kit with a snap. “What, your mom never did that for you when you got hurt as a kid?”

Cas just tilts his head, looking down at his hands again. “I think that might be a purely Human custom. Mother never did anything of the sort for me. She had similar powers to my own and just healed me when I got hurt.” He looks back up at him. “What purpose would kissing them serve?”

“It distracts from the pain, I guess?” Dean shrugs and tosses the kit across the room, not caring that it bounces off his bag and falls between it and the foot of the couch. “I dunno. I can’t really remember what it was like when mom did it for me. It was a long time ago.”

For a moment, Cas  chews on his bottom lip, glancing between Dean and his hands. It’s like he can see the wheels turning and a tight anticipation starts clogging up Dean’s throat, making it hard to breathe. He’s got an itch under his skin again, like he knows what’s about to happen and he’s not sure if he wants to run away or throw himself into it like a soldier on a grenade.

Funny enough, he doesn’t even twitch when Cas holds out one of his hands. “I want to understand.”

Dean can’t decide if that’s a damn good excuse, or a piss poor one. But the world flips into slow motion and it’s like watching a train wreck. He’s got his heartbeat in his ears and a fucking cocky little smirk on his face when he reaches up to hold Cas’s hand, flipping it over so his palm is up. Cas doesn’t look away, holding Dean’s eyes the entire time he dips his head and presses a little kiss to his fingers.

This time, when Cas’s eyes go wide, colour creeps into his cheeks. There’s a whole mix of flowers covering the floor when Dean looks down. They’re all ones that he’s seen before – orange lilies, the pink pee-somethings, yellow flowers he thinks might be daffodils and he’s not sure how he even knows that, and yellow tulips – and he only remembers those because he helped Mary plant a whole flower box full of them a few months before she died.

Damn, he forgot to look for a flower meanings book when he was at the thrift shop. Shit, he’ll have to go back next time. If he remembers, because that thought hops the next shuttle to the moon when Cas holds out his other hand and Dean repeats the motion, watching how Cas’s wings fluff and flare and another couple nails come out of the coffin.

At some point Dean is _really_ going to have to stop digging himself in deeper here. But right now, this – this is okay. Nothing happens beyond Cas staring wide-eyed at his own fingers like a few kisses _did_ help. Nothing happens until after Dean’s finished cleaning up the oatmeal and they eat a couple apples for breakfast instead. Nothing happens until Cas frowns at a jar of dye with a stirring stick leaning against the inside rim and he glares down at his hands. Nothing happens until Dean runs off at the mouth _again_ after he changes his clothes.

“If you want to get started now, I could do it.”

Cas’s wings flare so wide they nearly knock shit off the walls. “What?”

Stop, stop, stop. _No._ Don’t speak more. “I said I could do it.” Dean picks up the jar and stirs the black paste inside. “If you sit on the couch, I could paint it for you. I’m just following the lines right? It’s not that hard. And if your hands are better before I’m done, you can take over.”

The problem with this is that Cas just keeps _staring_ like Dean asked something insane along the lines of cutting off his toes to make a necklace or something. He’s expecting some kind of ‘no’. That’s what he’s prepared for. What Dean _isn’t_ prepared for is Cas standing up, wading through a veritable _sea_ of flowers to the couch, and kicking the sleeping bag out of the way before he sits down with his legs stretched straight in front of him and his hands resting palm up beside his thighs. This was not how he thought the day was going to play out _at all_.

Dean paces in front of the couch a few times, trying to find what would be the best place to sit so he’s painting straight on and not at some weird angle where he might fuck up the lines. Straight ahead really is looking like the only option and Cas looks like he’s figured that out too because he’s staring at his feet and he looks away when Dean mutters ‘fuck it’ and drops to his knees, straddling Cas’s thighs.

It takes a hell of a lot to ignore the burn of a blush in his cheeks and Dean tries his best not to pay attention to the one creeping down Cas’s chest. He puts the little jar to the side and when he looks at the faded lines of Cas’s tattoos, Dean tries _really fucking hard_ to only see the lines and the sun tanned skin underneath, or the lines of muscle, or the little beauty mark just above his right nipple or – _fuck_. And the straps of his wrap are hanging over his chest and Dean needs to get those out of the way first.

Cas goes a little tense, but he doesn’t really move much outside of his wings twitching and spreading a little when Dean starts undoing his wrap. He mutters a few apologies and doesn’t look up, focused on getting Cas out of the stupid wrap first and hating-loving every agonizing second of it until he pulls the neck loop over Cas’s head and moves everything out of the way.

“Tilt your head back.” Dean gestures with one hand, picking up the jar with the other.

He stirs it a bit and waits for Cas to move, baring his throat. Might as well start from the top and work his way down, huh? Dean dips his index and middle finger into the paste and bites the inside of his cheek before he starts painting. The moment his fingers touch under his jaw, Cas’s wings fan out slowly, stretching wide and curving forward slightly. He makes a strangled little gasp of a noise Dean is fully aware of how his mouth opens.

There’s a pulse beating under his fingertips, going fast enough to match his own and Dean’s hindsight is twenty/twenty when he thinks about how very _bad_ of an idea this is. Especially when he glances down and realizes that the lines are going to take his fingers right over two very specific places on Cas’s chest. Shit. He hopes Cas doesn’t have sensitive nipples. The last thing Dean needs to know, while he’s dipping his fingers into a pot of paste and dragging them down Cas’s throat _while he’s sitting in Cas’s lap_ , is how he would react if Dean used something like his _tongue_.

No, no, no, _fuck no_. There is no way in hell he should let his thoughts stumble even slightly in that direction. But that’s _really_ hard not to do when his fingers just painted a smudged line of black over one of Cas’s nipples and his wings twitched hard enough Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled something. Cas’s breathing is doing funny things, hitching and gasping every so often. He nearly stops completely when Dean drags his fingers down the other side to completely the main circle on his chest.

“It doesn’t look like when you do it.” Dean grumbles, sitting back and squinting at his handwork before he even considers doing the line that goes right down to the edge of the loincloth. Maybe he should leave that part for Cas to do and just take care of all the little symbols. But that’s small detail and he’s not sure how he’s going to pull that off unless he uses, like, his pinky finger or something. “Cas, it looks like crap – no, don’t move your head, you’ll fuck up the throat line.”

Cas sighs but he doesn’t relax any, wings twitching some more. Dean gets momentarily distracted when Cas licks his lips and damn near misses what he says next.

“You were –” He pauses and his wings fold in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. “Dean, you were supposed to use the paintbrush.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Gardenia: secret love, joy  
> \- Red and Yellow Roses (mixed together): joy, happiness, excitement  
> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Orange Lily: desire  
> \- Daffodil: unrequited love, return my affection  
> \- Yellow Tulip: hopeless love


	22. Distractions and Frustrations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That’s all it is, isn’t it? He wanted to understand and now he does. Castiel understands that Dean has a hold over him he never expected, and that the wants of his heart and body can easily overpower all the barriers and lines Castiel tries to lay between them. Oddly enough, he doesn’t notice the pain in his fingers anymore. He knows it should be there since he hasn’t healed them enough, but all he feels is the place where Dean’s lips touched the bandages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

When Castiel wakes, it’s before the sun has come up over the mountains. The sky is brightening above the treetops on the other side of the clearing and Castiel sits up to watch the birds, squinting blearily into the misty morning. He stretches, wings carefully extending as he reaches for the ceiling and rolls his shoulders back. His spine pops just as his primaries brush the curved trunks of the trees that make up the walls of his home.

Castiel leans over, twisting to get his knees under him and tuck his wings to his back while he looks over the edge of his nest. For a few moments, he allows himself this one luxury of watching Dean while he sleeps. He’s laying on his side, back pressed to the stuffed mats against the wall. His sleeping bag is kicked off his bare legs, bunched up to cover him from his shoulders to his hips. It’s endearing the way Dean rubs his cheek into the pillow that he has locked between his arms.

As quietly as he can, Castiel finds his wrap in the mess of blankets that makes up his nest. After that’s on, he drops to the floor by the entrance, ducking out through the vines and moss before he’s even properly landed to minimize the noise he makes. Once he’s relieved himself and stretched a little more, Castiel busies himself with silently preparing the dye for his markings while oatmeal cooks in a pot on the grill over the fire.

He’s distracted by many things while he works. His thoughts are tied up in thinking about how hard it’s going to be to compose himself while painting his markings when Dean is watching. And every time Dean moves on the othil, shuffling into a more comfortable position, Castiel looks up and watches him for a few minutes. Dean’s drive here was a long one and Castiel doesn’t want to wake him until he’s fully rested – at the very least, until he’ll have something ready for him to eat.

When the dye is ready, Castiel leaves it on the table while he checks the oatmeal, lifting the lid carefully from the pot with a cloth to protect his hand. It looks good, smells good, and with some cinnamon and fruit, it should be perfect. There’s fresh bread in the covered bowl on the shelf, baked just yesterday, and there’s honey in the bee-pot that he collected last week. Castiel gets another cloth to protect his other hand while he removes the pot.

He’s not entirely sure what happens next. The cloths must slip when he looks up and over his shoulder at the sound Dean makes. It’s like a yawn and word, but it’s not any word that Castiel recognizes. Dean is stretching on his back, his arms above his head and the blanket pushed to the side. Castiel has the brief thought that he might be waking up, but anything past that is pain as he lifts the pot and drops it. His fingers sting with the burn and he holds them to his chest, barely hearing Dean’s surprised, half asleep questions.

“It’s nothing, Dean.” He says it automatically, trying to focus around the pain to at least lessen that.

Now he has to decide how long he wants it to last. He could heal it immediately, but then he would be too tired to do anything for half the day. Replacing skin and healing burns that might scar takes more of his energy. By the time he’d want to move again, the dye would have dried out. It needs to be used within a few hours of being made. If he ignores the sting, he could heal them slowly over the course of a few hours and he should be able to paint everything quickly after that.

Dean is next to him and saying words and Castiel knows he’s responding but he’s not sure what he’s saying. Dean is kneeling so close and he’s barely dressed – all legs and arms and freckled shoulders peeking out from under his shirt. It’s like a part of Castiel’s brain goes silent and he has to fight with himself not to stare, or to lean into the sleep warm touch as Dean pushes his wing out of the way and holds his wrists to look at his hands. When Dean pull him to stand, Castiel moves without fully being aware of it, sitting when and where he’s told to.

This is the same caring Dean that he first met, when the hunter façade fell away and he was so insistent on taking care of the wounds he’d caused. Seeing this part of him again, the first side of him that Castiel knew and the attention Dean is giving him while he fusses with the little white box and all the things inside, it’s jarring. It’s enough that while they talk, all Castiel is aware of is that Dean’s hands are touching his, fingers gentle as they wrap a soft, thin fabric around the burns.

Castiel comes back to himself with a jolt when Dean grins up at him after the last bandage is tied off. “You don’t need me to kiss those better, do you?”

One word resonates through Castiel, sparking through his powers and sending a burst of orange lilies across the table as his feathers fluff out in surprise. He barely notices any of that, his attention entirely focused on Dean and the wave of _want_ washes through him – terrifying in just how badly he wants Dean to kiss him.

But why would Dean offer to do that? Does he want to kiss Castiel too? Or just the burns on his fingers? Why would he want to kiss the burns? He never kissed any of the wounds that Castiel had the first time they met and he certainly never offered to do it then.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean glances up from closing the box. “Don’t understand what? Kissing booboos better? What, your mom never did that for you when you got hurt as a kid?”

Good. This conversation is good. It’s taking Castiel’s mind away from his imagination and where it is so valiantly trying to imagine what it would be like to have Dean’s lips on him – his fingers, his mouth, his skin, _anywhere_. He tries to focus away from that, looking down at his hands and tilting his head as he thinks about Dean’s words and not what his voice would feel like whispering words across his body.

“I think that might be a purely Human custom. Mother never did anything of the sort for me.” Talking about his mother makes it easier to keep himself away from the dangerous thoughts about Dean. “She had similar powers to my own and just healed me when I got hurt.” Looking back up at Dean nearly destroys what little walls he’s managed to build to separate himself from that want. “What purpose would kissing them serve?”

Castiel had thought that he had this under control. He thought he’d be able to limit himself to just the hugs and how they lay together on the othil when they read. Remembering the hug from last night and Dean’s arms around him is entirely too counterproductive. It’s the memory of how it felt to fold Dean in both his arms and his wings and holding him close while the leather and metal and dark edge of Dean’s scent nearly hypnotized him – it’s what Castiel blames for why he lifts one of his hands out to do.

“I want to understand.”

He’s not even sure how he got here. It feels like moments ago he burned his fingers and how he has Dean giving him a slanted smile as he takes his hand in his. Castiel almost stops breathing when Dean turns his hand over. His fingers uncurl of their own volition and he breath does catch in his throat when Dean’s lips touch the bandages, his eyes never leaving Castiel’s own. There’s something he thinks he should be able to read behind that green, like the forest in the sunlight.

Peonies add themselves to the flock of lilies around Dean’s feet, mixed with yellow daffodils and tulips and Castiel hates them all, though he’s thankful that the meaning of the flowers is lost on Dean. Castiel can feel a blush under his skin and he doesn’t care. All he wants to feel again is that warm breath on his hands and that mouth and Dean’s touch and what wouldn’t he give to have Dean care for him the same way he does, to want him.

His wings twitch wider and he catches him before they can spread fully. There’s no need for any display right now. Dominant or submissive, he’s not sure which his wings would have taken, but all of it is unnecessary. Dean wouldn’t understand anyways and it would have no effect on the outcome of this little _experiment_.

That’s all it is, isn’t it? He wanted to understand and now he does. Castiel understands that Dean has a hold over him he never expected, and that the wants of his heart and body can easily overpower all the barriers and lines Castiel tries to lay between them. Oddly enough, he doesn’t notice the pain in his fingers anymore. He knows it should be there since he hasn’t healed them enough, but all he feels is the place where Dean’s lips touched the bandages.

At least that distracts him so he doesn’t see Dean clean up the mess Castiel’s foolishness made. Their breakfast ends up being just a few apples and Castiel swears to himself that he’ll cook a big lunch later to make up for it. When Dean changes his clothes, Castiel turns his back to give him privacy. It’s the only way to ensure that he won’t watch Dean change.

He only turns around again when Dean speaks. “If you want to get started now, I could do it.”

Castiel’s wings fan out in surprise, primaries knocking against the walls as he stares up at Dean. “What?” He can’t possibly mean what Castiel immediately thinks he means.

The dizzying feeling of falling mixes with a spiraling disbelief that leaves Castiel stunned when Dean picks up the jar on the table, using the paintbrush still sticking in it to stir the dye. “I said I could do it. If you sit on the couch, I could paint it for you. I’m just following the lines, right? It’s not that hard. And if your hands are better before I’m done, you can take over.”

This is exactly one of those moments when everything else overtakes his mind. Castiel _knows_ he shouldn’t let Dean do that. It pushed his boundaries enough just to agree to let Dean watch him paint the markings. Letting him be the one to do it is – it carries more meaning for Castiel than he thinks Dean knows. And he’s almost certain that having Dean that close, having him do something so intimate as painting the markings for him, might shatter what little self control he has left.

He knows all this and yet he still stands. Castiel stands and ignores the flowers that bloom around ever step he takes to the othil. It feels like his body is moving without his permission as he kicks aside Dean’s sleeping bag to make room for him to sit with his legs stretched out so the markings on his feet and thigh can easily be done. The back of his hands get pressed to the othil to keep them from shaking.

Castiel stares at his feet instead of watching how Dean paces before him. He knows what Dean’s trying to figure out and Castiel reaches the conclusion before Dean does. When Dean mutters under his breath and steps over his legs, Castiel has to look away. He starts reciting the lyrics to any and all songs – the ones he’s learned from Dean and the ones of his clan – to try and focus away from the warm weight of Dean practically sitting in his lap. This position can only mean that he’s going to start with the markings on Castiel’s chest rather than how he usually begins with the ones on his legs.

He doesn’t need to look up to know that Dean is looking him over critically. Castiel can practically feel everywhere that Dean’s gaze slides over his skin and he fails at willing away his blush. When Dean’s fingers brush the skin of his stomach, Castiel tenses and has to force his wings not to flare again as he looks down to watch as he undoes the knot keeping his wrap tied around his waist.

“Sorry.” Dean mumbles, not looking up. “This is just gonna be in the way.”

Why didn’t he just ask Castiel to take it off? He would have been able to do that much at least. The question never makes it to his tongue. No words do. He’s lost in the feeling of the gentle ghost of Dean’s fingers across his neck as he undoes the knot at the back of the neck loop and pulls everything over his head, including his necklace with his parents’ feathers on it. There’s a heat burning under his skin now, different from the blush. It’s making his stomach feel too tight and Castiel drowns out everything else in his head with songs, if only to keep that heat from travelling any lower. The last thing he needs right now is to have an untimely erection with Dean sitting how he is.

“Tilt your head back.” Dean mumbles again, gesturing vaguely while he gets the jar.

It takes Castiel a moment to do it, to gather enough courage to allow himself to be so vulnerable and bare his throat to Dean. The last thing he expects, as he stares up at the sloping ceiling of the salman, is to feel Dean’s _fingers_ on his skin, wet with the paste of the dye. He makes a small noise of surprise, almost a gasp, and opens his mouth to tell Dean to use the paintbrush but the words never come. They’re stopped by the want, by the desire to have Dean’s fingers touch all of him and trace all his markings from his chin to his toes.

If this is the only kind of touch Dean is willing to give Castiel without him having to ask for it, why should he stop him from doing it? Castiel can have this one little touch, can’t he? He can be a little selfish and have this one thing he didn’t even ask for. Dean is doing this willingly. It was even his suggestion. There’s nothing wrong with this. There’s nothing wrong with how his wings spread and curve forward, itching to close around Dean and seal them both away from the world. There is nothing wrong about the touch of Dean’s fingers down his chest and along the main circle, or how they brush over sensitive spots that make it hard for Castiel to breathe.

“It doesn’t look like when you do it.” Dean grumbles, his weight shifting back closer toward Castiel’s knees. He isn’t surprised, considering Dean used his fingers and not the fine edge of a brush. “Cas, it looks like crap – no, don’t move your head, you’ll fuck up the throat line.”

He stops trying to look down. But he does sigh and try to get himself to relax, tries to will away the heat that’s been burning in his belly since Dean sat down. His wings continue to twitch, still half unfolded and ready to complete the circle and close around Dean. It takes a few moments to collect himself enough to lick his lips and force a few words out.

“You were –” He pauses because the words feel too loud in the quiet of the salman and he folds his wings slightly, minimizing his presence as he lowers his voice to a whisper. “Dean, you were supposed to use the paintbrush.”

The stillness and silence that follows his words is somehow different from everything before that. Castiel tilts his head, just enough to see the wide-eyed horror on Dean’s face and the dark blush staining his cheeks. His jaw moves, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to say something though no words or sounds are coming out.

It takes several attempts before Dean manages to hiss something. “ _Shit_.” The jar makes a hollow noise when he practically drops it and starts to get up. “Jesus Christ, Cas, why didn’t you – why did you let – a fucking _paintbrush_ –”

Castiel’s fingers sting slightly when he closes them over Dean’s thighs, keeping him from standing. He sounds far more calm than he feels. “If it had been a problem, I would have said something and corrected your methods.” As soon as he’s sure Dean isn’t going to move, Castiel takes his hands back. He really doesn’t trust them not to touch more than they should. “Continue with your fingers or the brush. I don’t care which.”

Dean mumbles under his breath a few times and his blush only deepens, colouring the tips of his ears and creeping down his neck. “Where’s the paintbrush?”

“In the jar.”

He swears again and keeps muttering to himself, words too mumbled for Castiel to make out. When it’s the brush that touches his skin this time, tracing the marks on his collarbone, it feels _different_. It doesn’t inspire the same heat under his skin as Dean’s fingers do, but every smooth stroke of the brush chases chills along his bones and the muscles in Castiel’s wings ache as he forces them not to move again. He’s painted himself hundreds of times with the very same brush and it’s never felt like this. Every touch of the shaved bristles never stole his breath away.

The heat is building in his belly again and Castiel can feel it sliding lower. He can feel himself getting hard in the qaa and with Dean sitting barely a foot from it, Castiel is loathe for anything more to happen. The scent of coriander is heavy in the air and Castiel knows it must be growing thickly around them.

A distraction is needed, and quickly.

“My status in the clan.” He breathes out, barely a whisper.

Dean stops, the brush hesitating. “What?”

“The marks you’re painting now. They represent my status in the clan.” Ignoring the sting in his fingers, Castiel curls his hands into fists and presses his knuckles into the othil. He’ll try anything if it’ll make that heat go away. “The line under my chin and the triangle it connects to symbolizes that I am a warrior.”

“Oh.” The brush starts moving again, tracing the curve under his collarbone. “If this is your status, then what is it? Your position in the clan?”

Castiel traces the grain in the bark of the tree with his eyes, hoping that will take away from the feel of the brush. “Essentially, have no status. There is no one of a lower position than I.” His hands tremble slightly at the memory of when he was stripped of his rank and his status and the day he chose to live as an exile without truly being one. “The higher your status, the more detailed those marking would be. The Iaidon’s markings cover their shoulders.”

“What’s an eye-ah-eye-doh-en?”

He hums, thinking about the best way to describe the translation. “Directly into your language, it means ‘the all powerful’. It’s what we call the strongest members of our clans – the leader, if you will. Each clan has one. I believe you would know them as Archangels.”

The brush moves down, tracing the smaller symbols around the circle on his chest. “You’re talking about Michael, Raphael, and Gabriel, right?”

“Yes. Those are titles, actually. The name is assumed by the Hamiaah who becomes the clean leader. And there are more of them than you know.”

“Is that why different branches of religion recognize a different number of Archangels? Some say there’s seven, some say less, some say more.” Dean waits a few moments and Castiel can almost hear the grin. “Surprised I know that?”

Castiel almost smiles himself, but there’s still too much heat flooding him to let his control slip even slightly. “Impressed, but not surprised. You’re much smarter than you give yourself credit for, Dean.”

He huffs, but he sounds pleased when he speaks again. “What about this big one? What’s it mean?”

“It’s the symbol of my clan. We’re expected to wear it somewhere on our bodies where it can be easily seen by other Hamiaah to identify which clan we belong to.” Castiel continues to talk about clan relations and how they all get along well, though there are a few that have tension between their Iaidons, there is rarely any actual fights between clans. He talks about anything he can think of – everything he probably shouldn’t be sharing with Dean – just to keep any more of that _feeling_ from sinking lower. So far he’s keeping it back rather well.

He even explains that the curling lines along his stomach and hips is his family crest. Some Hamiaah don’t paint them at all, but Castiel chose to honour his parents by adding it and making it as large as he did. Dean listens to everything, painting with sure strokes as if the conversation is helping him to focus too. For Castiel, it gets harder to keep his mind off certain things after Dean finishes everything on his front except for one piece. Castiel has to bite his lip during the hesitant first touches of the brush to the top of the line that goes from the bottom of the circle to the edge of his qaa.

Dean’s voice sounds hushed, almost nervous when he speaks. “Should I –?”

Castiel should stop him. His hands don’t hurt as much as before and he’s fairly certain that he would be able to hold the paintbrush and finish everything else. But his body isn’t listening to his mind. He’s already nodding, teeth digging into his bottom lip as the paintbrush starts the slow descent down his stomach. His next breath stays caught in his throat and his ribs feel hot and cold all at the same time.

It feels like an eternity before the brush pulls away at the edge of the qaa. Normally, if he was the one doing it, Castiel would have painted a little lower than that. But this is most definitely _not_ a normal situation and he really should have stopped Dean from doing that. He’s not sure he’ll be able to stand having Dean bent over his lap to paint the lines on his legs, let alone if Dean feels the need to hold his arm with one hand while he paints those designs.

“I can finish it.” Castiel whispers, lowering his head. He can feel the tightness the drying dye on the skin of his throat. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Thank fuck.” Dean sounds more relieved than Castiel feels. He puts the jar to the side and gets up quicker than Castiel expected him too, already heading for the entrance to the salman before Castiel even moves. “My knees are killing me and I’ve had to go pee for the last twenty minutes.” Before he leaves, he grabs his jacket and his keys jingle in one of the pockets. “I’m going to go to the impala after I piss. I didn’t bring everything up last night and I need to stretch my legs after all that.”

“Just shout for me if you need help.” Castiel calls after him as he slumps against of the othil, not paying attention to how it presses into the joints of his wings.

There’s something more annoying going on that distracts him from the twinge of pain. He presses his hand down against the front of his qaa, willing away the growing erection. If Dean had remained in his lap another few minutes, he’s certain he would have been caught out for that and he’s not sure how that would have been received. To his understanding, it’s not customary for one to be aroused when they’re only being helped by a _friend_.

He would be worried about Dean’s sudden departure, but his reasons were perfectly valid and Castiel doesn’t have the capacity at the moment to be concerned about whether or not they were false. It’s a good thing that Dean is going to be gone for an untold amount of time right now. Castiel needs to get himself and his body under control. He can finish painting his markings and he can read while they dry. Maybe reading will help to take his mind off everything else – like how every atom of his being feels like it’s focused on remembering having Dean so close and carrying out such an intimate ritual.

x

It would be really nice if he could think of a swear right now that wasn’t synonymous with sex. Having _fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK_ running circles around his head isn’t helping the situation Dean has going on in his jeans. He’s been half hard since he started using the paintbrush and Cas’s wings started twitching even worse, like they were dying to stretch out but Cas was trying to keep them reigned in.

And then Cas had to start frikken _talking_. It’s like he has no idea that he’s got a voice that practically _belongs_ between the sheets and whispering dirty things against sweat slick skin and _that’s really not helping_. At the rate his brain is derailing, he’s not going to make it to the car and Dean will be damned before he leans up against a tree and jerk off. Especially since the whole forest seems keen on telling Cas about him every chance it gets

Frikken forest.

Frikken Cas.

Frikken, goddamn, _stupid_ ideas. What the _hell_ was he even thinking when he offered to paint Cas’s tattoos? Oh right. He _wasn’t_ thinking. He was running off at the mouth and letting something that definitely wasn’t his brain (and he’s pretty sure it wasn’t even his dick either) make all the decisions. And then he went and used his fingers instead of the stirring stick that was actually the fucking _paintbrush_.

It’s not even noon yet and today has already gone to hell. His hormones and his dick get _zero_ say in whether or not it’s an awesome trip dropping down to the pit in a hand basket. He’s almost ninety percent sure that Cas wasn’t even aware of all the little hitches in his words while he was painting, or how his arms kept trembling, or just how much every little twitch and sound was going straight south through Dean.

“Not fair.” He grunts, uncomfortably half-jogging down the side of the little basin – which, in the morning light, turns out just to be a kind of hill that the clearing is on the edge of. “Not fucking fair.”

He strips off his jacket before he gets into the car, tossing it over the back of the bench and into the front seat. With the door slammed shut behind him and the endless background noise of the forest cut off, Dean sits forward and he’d put his head between his knees just to _breathe_ if he had the space for it. He’s about to rub his hand over his face when he notices the flaking black paste on his fingers.

Shit. He’s going to have black fingers all the way to the first joint for who knows how long. Without thinking about it, Dean rubs rest of the flakes off on his jeans. He dips his head until his forehead bumps the back of the bench and he screws his eyes shut, trying _really_ hard not to think about how Cas had looked when he finally moved his head. And he tries especially hard not to think about how those eyes were the sober version of the ones he’d seen the night he kissed Cas, or how badly he really wanted to kiss Cas right then. It didn’t help at all that those little white flowers that had been springing up almost the entire time were the same ones he remembers seeing that night and he’s not even sure why that little tidbit still stays firmly lodged in his brain.

What the hell is he even supposed to think about that? Same flowers, same eyes, the same _look_ and his wings were probably doing the same damn thing. If Cas doesn’t want anything about their relationship to change – even though he doesn’t even frikken know _how_ it would change – why would there be so many similarities between that night and today?

Shit, he’s going to be haunted by today just as badly as before. Only this time he doesn’t feel like he was taking advantage. Cas was _definitely_ all there today – a regular chatty Cathy while he was painting the symbols. Dean slams his fist down on the seat by his hip, gritting his teeth and trying with all he’s got to corral his thoughts _away_ from all that. The last thing he needs to remember is the subtle shift in Cas’s body when he pushed up into the paintbrush, or how goosebumps had spread like wildfire over his skin when he’d painted the line down his stomach. Thinking about all of that isn’t going to make the boner he’s got pressing against the zipper of his jeans go away.

“Goddammit.” He mumbles, staring down at his lap.

Not even the big guns are going to help him now. He’s passed the point of no return. Either he sits here and waits for who-the-fuck-knows-how-long for it to go away, or he takes care of it. If he’s gone for more than a half hour, Cas might come looking for him. Dean doubts freshly painted tattoos aren’t going to stop him – not if he doesn’t care that Dean fucked up the warrior mark and the edge of the clan symbol by painting it with his fingers.

He’s already fumbling for the box of tissues trapped somewhere under the backseat before his mind is fully made up. It’s like today his body is making all the decisions for him and his brain just fucked off to Miami or somewhere equally _far away_. At least this plan means he’s going to get some kind of relief in the next few minutes. Dean just isn’t looking forward to how shitty he’s going to feel afterward.

So far, since he realized that he may or may not be slightly attracted to Cas (and that’s just wishful thinking), he’s managed to avoid thinking about Cas when it comes to his alone time. If the girls and guys he thinks up just happen to have the short, messy dark hair, the same blue eyes and suntanned skin, then that’s just a coincidence. Same with how he imagines the guys with voices that, if the wind is right, might sound a little like Cas. At least none of them have had tattoos all over, or fucking _wings_ for that matter.

Dean  stretches out across the back seat, laying down as best as a grown man can. His shoulders are curved against the door, chin on his chest while he presses one foot against the opposite door and spread his legs enough that his other knee is pushing against the back of the front seat, his foot on the floor. After rucking his t-shirt up under his armpits and baring his chest and stomach, Dean fumbles with getting his jeans open. Biting his lip when he can feel the zipper moving against his erection through his boxers. If it catches, it’ll kill his boner in record time – but he really kinda doesn’t want that to happen right now, not when he’s finally managed to get up enough nerves to jack off while thinking about Cas.

Once his dick is free and standing proud, Dean licks his palm and rubs over the head, spreading the pre-come to ease the way as he sets a steady speed. It’s a familiar motion, one he’s done more times than he can count and not just to himself. For a moment he closes his eyes and lets his thoughts slip into the land of ‘what if’.

What if he had kissed Cas then? What if he’d dropped the paintbrush and leaned in and kissed him again, sinking his fingers into his feathers and sliding forward in his lap. He’s never really given thought to whether he’d want to bottom or top when it comes to sex with a guy, but Dean’s open and willing to try everything at least once. He wouldn’t mind if Cas grabbed his hips and rolled them over until Dean’s on his back. As long as they’re still kissing and touching and never stopping, he’d be damn fine with that happening. God, and the sounds Cas would make. If just a little painting has him getting all hitched in his breathing, what the hell would he sound like if Dean got his hands on him proper?

Dean doesn’t even get out of the imaginary foreplay before he’s feeling the heat start to coil low in his belly. In his imagination, he’s got his hands in Cas’s hair and his goddamn chapped lips are wrapped around his dick and it’s fucking _awesome_. He wants to hold off, to keep this burn going just a little longer, but it’s already about time for him to head back and the guilt is starting to claw its way into the back of his mind. Fumbling for the box of Kleenex on the floor takes more coordination than he has and Dean barely gets one in place before his stomach gets tight and his hips come off the seat.

The groan that bubbles out his throat gets muffled behind his teeth as they dig hard into his bottom lip. It sounds suspiciously like Cas’s name and by the time he slumps down again, hand still moving lazily to make sure the pipes are cleaned out completely, the guilt is already well into making itself at home in his frontal lobe. Of course he knew he was going to feel like this afterward no matter what. He just got off thinking about his best friend sucking him off exactly how Dean is pretty sure Cas doesn’t know how to do. And he likes the idea of teaching Cas how to do it _way_ more than he should.

How the hell is he supposed to go back to the house and face Cas knowing he just really vividly imagine having his mouth on his dick? Slowly. That’s how he’s going to do it. Really slowly.

He drags his feet as he goes back with the devana and a few other weapons and ammo that he’s modified to kill monsters. When he shuffles back through the vines and dumps everything on his stuff – except for the devana, she gets put down gently – Cas is sitting at the table with his back to him. His wings are still all twitchy and puffy, but Dean doesn’t see the dye jar anywhere so he must be done with the tattoo.

After nearly forty minutes of being alone, Dean kinda thought Cas would’ve calmed down by now. Not that he was really all uppity when he left, but his wings keep flexing against his back, shuffling like they can’t hold still. Concern overtakes the guilt for at least a little bit.

“Cas?” He tries keeping his voice steady as he kneels by his bag, rooting around for a squeeze bottle of hand sanitizer that he has in there somewhere. “You okay?”

The answer he gets is a kind of hum, no words and Cas doesn’t even turn around. It didn’t sound like a ‘yes’ and it didn’t sound like a ‘no’. Dean’s rubbing the gel into his hands when he steps up next to the table just to get a look at him. Cas has the bee-pot sitting in front of him and he’s dipping the weird pizza-bread straight into it, using it almost like a spoon while he eats it. That’s not as weird as how Cas is staring down at his hands, fingers flexing like he’s testing them now that the bandages are off.

That lasts for all of two seconds. Dean’s barely even come to a full stop when Cas’s wings snap out and he looks up so sharply Dean’s neck twinges in sympathy. Cas’s eyes are wide and he looks _really_ surprised – and it’s not the ‘oh, I didn’t know you were here’ kind. At least Dean’s pretty sure it’s not. The last time he checked, people don’t blush like _that_ when you startle them a little. That right there is the same kind of blush Cas had when Dean dropped into his lap to start painting the tattoos earlier.

Those white flowers from before practically _erupt_ across the floor with those orange lilies again. This time there are pink and orange flowers that Dean is pretty sure are supposed to be roses, but he’s only seen red ones before.

Automatically, Dean reaches out for Cas’s wing. Even though Cas always goes kind of tense at the first touch, he usually relaxes into it like it’s some kind of massage just to have his feathers stroked a little bit. If Cas needs something to calm down – and Dean’s not even a hundred percent sure _why_ he’s being antsy – maybe a petting will help.

He’s barely even touched the feathers before Cas pulls his wing out of reach. He’s up and off the stump-stool between blinks and Dean lets his hand drop to his side like the heavy weight settling in his chest. Cas is only wearing the loincloth still, but all his markings are solid and black again, crusted over with the dye. That’s all Dean really registers before Cas turns away, his wings tucked up tight against his back.

“I need to – The forest called for me. I didn’t want to leave before you got back.” Cas goes straight for the vines and moss, not stopping to grab his wrap or anything else. “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Cas is already outside. From past experience, Dean knows better than to try and chase him down. He’ll be in the trees before Dean even makes it to the door. So that leaves him standing by the table like an idiot and it barely takes a minute before he starts pacing, hands shoving through his hair because _fuck_.

What if the forest told Cas what he was doing in the car? Does the forest even have eyes? Can it see into car windows and shit like that? Jesus, but what if Cas knows and now he’s – he’s – What? Disgusted? Horrified? He didn’t look like either of those before he took out. Hell, he didn’t even look terrified. And all these stupid little _flowers_ that Dean keeps trampling as he paces the room. They’re driving him crazy not knowing what they are and fuck it, he’s going to put a reminder in his goddamn cell phone about getting one of those stupid books.

Yeah, that sounds like a good distraction right now. Otherwise he might go out of his freaking mind worrying about just how badly he might have fucked up their friendship _again_. Since he doesn’t have any booze to drown those feelings away right now, the best he’s got is distracting himself with what he’s got on hand. Not bringing beer out here is either the best idea or the worst idea he’s ever had. If he’d brought beer, he’d have something to drink. But if he drinks, who the hell knows what he’d end up doing – or _saying_ – when Cas gets back.

By the time he has his cell phone out of his bag and actually turned on, Dean’s figured out that there’s something else he can do that might help him feel better. Or at least give him some kind of clue about what to do here. He gets out the satellite phone, hits speed dial, and pins it between his shoulder and his ear while he messes around with the calendar and reminder things on his crappy little convenience store phone.

“You know you’ve called me more in the last few months than you have in years, right?”

“Hello to you too, bitch.” Dean grunts, fiddling with the buttons to try and get the reminder to set on multiple days in case just one doesn’t work. “How comes Jess didn’t answer?”

“She’s in class. What’s the crisis du jour?”

His brother is way to perceptive for his own good. “What makes you think I’m having a crisis?”

“Pattern recognition.” Sam sounds like a text book when he recites terms like that. “I talked to Bobby yesterday and he said you were on your way to Cas’s. It’s not that big of a leap considering how many times you’ve called me while you’ve been at his place and how many of those times you’ve been freaking out about how badly you want to make smooch-y faces with him.”

“I hate you.”

“Only because I’m right. Now spill your guts before I hang up. You’re interrupting my studying time, jerk.” Now he sounds smug and Dean wants to hang up on him just to spite him.

It takes ten minutes of trying to explain what happened with increasing frustration without giving any actual details before Dean is ready to throw in the towel. Everything is too tied up in Cas being an Angel – the painting, the markings, the stupid loincloth, the wings – for him to explain much more beyond the bare basics. And that’s literally him saying something hot happened between them, he ended up jerking off in the car, Cas took off the moment he got back and Dean doesn’t know _why_.

“Dean.” Sam cuts him off shortly after the ten minute mark. “Unless you’re going to give me details that’ll help me customize my advice to better help you, we might as well just hang up. Right now all I can tell you is the same thing I’ve told you before. Man up, deal with it like the big boy that you are, and _talk to him_.”

He groans and shoves a hand through his hair as he leans back against the couch. “Sammy, I keep telling you. This relationship magic you’re hoping for isn’t going to happen between Cas and me.”

“Why?” Sam’s getting that angry tilt to his voice that sets Dean’s teeth on edge. “Because you’re too scared to tell him how you feel about him? Because you think he doesn’t want anything more from you? How the hell are you supposed to know if he does or doesn’t if you won’t just _talk_ to him about it? Or is it because you can’t open up unless you’re drunk off your ass? Or –”

Something inside Dean snaps. Too many buttons are being hit too close to home and something just _ruptures_. The words are out of his mouth before he can even think of stopping them and once they register, Dean isn’t sure if he’s relieved or if he’s horrified with himself for finally telling Sam the biggest secret he’s ever kept from him.

“Because Cas is a goddamn _Angel_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Orange Lilies: desire  
> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Daffodil: unrequited love, return my affection  
> \- Yellow Tulip: hopeless love  
> \- Coriander: lust  
> \- Pink and Orange Roses: desire


	23. The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank the ever loving creator of pie that Cas comes back before Dean starts imagining him in different outfits. He doesn't even want to think about what his demented mind would stick Cas in. Dean has the sneaking suspicion that it would include cowboy boots. Or possibly a shirt that would, in the right light, maybe resemble Command Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Castiel peels the bandages from his fingers slowly while his tea steeps. The dye itches on his skin as it dries, and it adds to growing list of things he uses to distract himself from the ebbing heat in his belly. He had finished the rest of his markings not long after Dean left and spent the rest of the time focusing on healing his hands. It helps keep his mind off Dean and calms him.

His fingers don’t hurt anymore and Castiel tries not to worry about why Dean is taking so long to get something from his car. As far as he knows, nothing has happened since the forest hasn’t told him anything. But it has still been longer than it should be. If Castiel wasn’t still trying to wrestle with his own heat, he might even go and check on him. Maybe Dean needs help carrying back whatever he forgot yesterday evening. He’ll wait another little while. If Dean isn’t back within the hour, then he’ll go and make sure that he’s alright.

In the meantime, having a simple snack seems like a good idea. At least there’s no more threat of having an erection. Castiel is very good at controlling his body and he’s certain that he’ll be alright when Dean comes back. As long as Dean doesn’t get as close as he did before, he should be okay. It might be a little difficult during their reading time in the evening, but Castiel suspects that both of them might be too uncomfortable to sit very close together today. He knows for certain that he will be, and Dean had ran out of here much too quickly for it to have been _just_ about the reasons he’d given.

Castiel knows that Dean thinks he’s attractive. He said as much not long after they had met. If he thought that then, does he still think it now? If he still thinks that, would the situation have been as difficult for Dean on a physical level as it was for Castiel? This morning has been particularly difficult for Castiel in more than one way and he almost envies Dean for being limited to something as simple as physical attraction – since he knows that Dean doesn’t care for him beyond the limits of their friendship. It certainly didn’t help matters that Castiel considers the painting of his markings to be an intimate ritual that should only be shared with a mate.

And Dean is most assuredly _not_ his mate.

Dean comes back shortly after Castiel starts eating. It’s just bread dipped in honey, but it’s satisfies his need for a snack and it won’t ruin his appetite for lunch. He’s still lost in thought, thinking about things he’s told himself repeatedly that he shouldn’t think about. When Dean is visiting, it’s hard not to think about things that involve him. It’s like the world beyond the entrance to the salman stops and only they exist, and the world only starts turning again when they go for a walk and he’s forced to realize that there are things happening in the forest – things that need his attention.

“Cas? You okay?”

He hums in an automatic response. He’s still stuck in his thoughts. Since he only gets to have Dean around once a month, it’s not so wrong that he devotes as much as – if not all – of his attention to him during that time period, is it? There’s no guarantee that Dean is going to call him every night again after he leaves, so it’s not like every moment of every day is devoted to spending time talking with Dean. It’s just been a very long time since he had a friend and Castiel doesn't know how long it's going to be before Dean gets tired of him and he ends up alone with Silvanus visiting every so often.

Castiel's thoughts come to a dead stop the moment Dean gets close enough for his scent to fill his senses. After one night sleeping on the othil, the salman already smells a little like Dean. His scent will be everywhere by the end of the week and it'll take several days for it to leave everything except for the othil. He's caught himself avoiding using the othil more than once because he doesn't want to cover Dean's leftover scent with his own. Castiel needs it for the nights when his self-imposed exile weighs too heavily on his shoulders. He saves it for when he needs a reminder that he's not alone anymore and he doesn't want to call Dean and bother him.

His wings react first, flaring out sharply at the dark, heady scent clinging to Dean's skin. Castiel looks up so quickly that it makes his head spin and he doesn't care that he's staring at Dean. He's stared at him before and neither of them are new to the prolonged eye-contact they're prone to having. But Castiel isn't looking at his eyes. He's looking at Dean in his entirety, trying to pick out all the little hints that simply reinforce the knowledge Castiel has already gathered from Dean's scent alone.

A blush is quickly burning under his skin and the fire in his gut he thought he'd banked flares to life again. There's a fading flush to Dean's cheeks and neck, and his shirt is a little more disheveled than when he left. Despite the quickly drying liquid Dean is rubbing into his hands, it's doing nothing to hide the scent. It's been ages since he's caught the scent of a sexual release aside from his own and the animals. He's never been around a fresh scent – having only had the lingering aroma around other Hamiaah back when he lived with the clan.

But Dean's scent is invoking a reaction in him that he's never had from the others before – not even when sex hang heavy in the air during the mating season back at the clan. It's no surprise that coriander and orange lilies spread like a vicious plague across the floor, reacting to the dangerous _want_ surging through his veins. Castiel can see it happening out of the corner of his eye – because he just _can't_ take his eyes from Dean's lips and the way he self-consciously licks them.

He doesn't move until Dean does, until he reaches out to touch Castiel's wing. There isn't any way that he can have Dean touch him while he smells like that, like he just found ecstasy, and keep himself from doing everything he knows he shouldn't. Castiel can vividly see himself wrapping Dean in his wings and crushing his mouth to his distracting lips. He can see his hands under Dean's clothes, or better yet – pulling them from his body.

Every new image that flashes through his mind makes it all that much harder for Castiel to pull away. He tries to ignore the surprise and the hurt that fills Dean's face as he turns. It's been a very long time since he's pulled away from Dean like this and there's no reason that he can give him that won't hurt him or add to the distance between them. The only option Castiel can think of is lying to him and he's loathe to do it, but it's the only desperate choice left to him.

“I need to –” Leave. He needs to leave. “The forest called for me. I didn't want to leave before you got back. I'll be back in a while.”

Dean doesn't say anything and he doesn't follow him or stop him. There's an ache in Castiel's chest and he runs from it. He runs from everything because that's all he can do as his insides feel like they're on the verge of boiling and _heat_ his filling him from his head to his toes. Taking to the trees and from there to the sky, wings beating to catch the air and bear him higher, does little to stop his mind from turning to imagining just _what_ Dean did to make himself smell like that.

Castiel barely makes it to the strongest branches of Juniper, his spirit tree. His wings fold forward around his shoulders like a shield as he collapses back against her trunk, knees drawn to his chest. He breathes deep the clean air of the forest, using it to clean his senses. It's doing little to calm the storm seething in his belly or the erection painfully demanding his attention under his qaa. It'll take forever to wait for it to go away and he's not sure that it's going to because he just can't stop thinking about what Dean did.

He doesn't even care that Dean lied. Dean didn't go to his car to get something he forgot. He went there to deal with himself the same way Castiel is contemplating doing now. It's been a long time since he pleasured himself outside of the mating season, but right now is looking like a _really_ good time to give it a try again. Especially since the fire only burns brighter when he thinks that it's because of him – specifically his body – that had Dean do that.

As inexperienced as he is, Castiel knows the difference between a physical attraction and how he wants Dean. He wants him in all ways – body, mind and soul. Castiel doesn't want Dean to be with anyone else. He wants all his touches and his kisses and he wants Dean to stay here where they can talk and read and enjoy their time together for as long as they're able to. Just because Dean was aroused by the intimate moment between them doesn't mean that Dean likes him the same way Castiel likes him. You don't need to be romantically attracted to someone to be aroused by them.

That thought feeds the ache in his chest and Castiel forces it from his mind like he wishes he could with all the other thoughts about Dean. They keep building on top of one another in his mind, turning back again and again – no matter how hard he tries to get away from it – to thinking about how Dean had taken care of himself.

Dean had probably done it in his car. He would ask the forest, but he knows it wouldn't be able to tell him anything. The forest can't see anything. It's always alive, always thinking – but it doesn't see like he does. It can _feel_ the things around it, the things that touch it. It can tell when Dean's car enters the boundaries of Castiel's territory because it knows the feel of the wheels on the ground and the rumbling vibrations. It could tell when Dean was in danger because it could sense the sickness in him and knew that he was growing weaker by the minute. The forest communicates in feelings and senses – it doesn't use words or images. Which means that if Dean was _in_ his car, the forest wouldn't know nothing that transpired behind its doors.

But Castiel has his imagination and it is currently spiraling out of control. It gets as far as imagining Dean stretched out on the seat before the hands that move Dean's clothes out of the way aren't Dean's hands at all. They're his. Castiel isn't sure if his wings would be able to fit in the car, but he doesn't care. All he cares about right now is fumbling with the ties of his qaa, loosening it enough to push down and out of the way. It's almost too easy to imagine the hand that touches him, that wraps around his erection and starts moving to stroke steadily is Dean's hand and not his. Much like how he's thinking that it's _his_ hands that touched Dean.

Castiel folds his wings around him, feathers fanning to shield himself from prying eyes. He twists an arm behind him, groping for the walnut sized gland at the base of one of his wings. A little squeeze, and a bolt of pain-pleasure along his spine, is all it takes to coat his fingers in the oil he uses to coat his wings. It's more liquid-y when it's fresh and Castiel uses it to ease the slide of his hand along his erection. The pre-come beading on the head isn't enough for him and he doesn't like the burn of friction.

He has to keep his bottom lip caught between his teeth to keep quiet. Castiel may let his imagination run free, clearly picturing everything he wants to do to Dean – and have done to him – but he _refuses_ to let his voice be as loose. There are worlds of difference between voicing his desires and imagining them. He can get away with pretending Dean wants him the same way and that it's _his_ name Dean calls when the pleasure builds to dizzying heights, cresting and breaking like waves as he tumbles over that precipice and crashes into his orgasm.

Castiel may not make a noise when he reaches his own, but he wants to. He wants to tilt his head back and gasp Dean's name to the stars. He wants to slump back against a warm body instead of rough bark as his body slowly relaxes. There's a thick guilt settling over his thoughts as he looks down at his hand and the sticky-white mess on his fingers. Castiel has never felt bad about imagining things before, and he doesn't start now. He's allowed his imagination as long as he doesn't act on those desires.

As he carefully does up his qaa and finds the nearest river to wash his hands, Castiel ruminates on the guilt staining his thoughts. He's not surprised to find that all the guilt is associated directly to the lie he told Dean. Using the forest as a scapegoat for his actions is a terrible lie. He shouldn't make light of any situation where the forest would contact him for help. It's rude to Dean and to the forest. How is Castiel supposed to face Dean now that he's lied to him? He can't remember ever telling Dean a lie like that.

Not knowing what to say to Dean or how to face him after lying to him is what has Castiel dragging his feet as he returns to the salman by ground. He doesn't want to get back too quickly and he certainly doesn't know what he's supposed to actually tell Dean if he asks about what happened with the forest. This is why he hates lying. It just keeps building on itself and getting bigger until either it works and you feel horrible for it, or everything falls apart and you're caught out for telling a lie.

Maybe he'll be lucky and Dean won't ask him anything more. Maybe they'll be able to return to the comfortable familiarity they had with one another before. Castiel can only hope, praying quietly to Caosgi, that this is what happens.

x

Dean stares at his satellite phone, his back to the cave. It's propped up against the trio of candles Cas has sitting in a dish in the middle of the table. Right now, it's completely powered down – has been since Dean turned it off completely and chucked it against the couch. Any good feelings he had left over from a damn good wank session are long gone, chased off by guilt, by Cas running out on him, and by Sam being a asshat of epic proportions. And the worst thing? He can't even be mad at Sam for it.

Doubt was one of the many reactions that Dean expected Sam to have when – _if –_ he was going to tell him about Cas. But he hadn't really prepared himself for any kind of reaction because he hadn't actually planned to ever tell him. And it's not like Sam was especially dickish about it. He just didn't believe him. Proof, he said. He's not going to believe Dean until he's got some kind of proof and Dean completely refused to give any to him. How the hell is he supposed to prove it anyway? With all the Enochian he's learned? Or what he knows about the tattoos?

There's no way Dean is telling anyone, not even Sam, anything like that. Those aren't his secrets to give. If Sam hasn't learned anything like that in his fancy lawyer school and Angels Rights classes by now, then the Angels want it that way and Dean should just keep his great big mouth shut. He already spilled more today than he ever wanted to and according to his watch it's barely past noon right now.

And there's no way he's going to let this sit on his shoulders and make buddy-buddy with the guilt he already has about jerking off to thoughts of Cas. Hell no. That's enough bad feelings for one day. This right here is something that he's going to have to tell Cas the moment he comes in the door – or for what stands for a door in this place. For a moment that distracts him and Dean welcomes it as he thinks about how Cas keeps the place warm in the winter. Or does Cas do what the birds do and he flies South for the winter?

Shit, he hopes not. Dean's not sure he could go a whole winter not seeing Cas. It'll be hard as hell to drive up here with snow on the ground, but he's willing to make the drive if it means that he can him. He's just a little concerned that if he does come up here, he's going to freeze his nuts off on the couch. Fire or no fire, there's a cave in the back of this house and two great big holes in the front. How the hell is it _not_ going to be cold in here? And what does Cas wear during the winter anyways? Does he even own any other clothes? Dean's never seen him wear anything but that wrap he made out of a bear.

Thank the ever loving creator of pie that Cas comes back before Dean starts imagining him in different outfits. He doesn't even want to think about what his demented mind would stick Cas in. Dean has the sneaking suspicion that it would include cowboy boots. Or possibly a shirt that would, in the right light, maybe resemble Command Gold.

Cas stops just inside the vines and his wings are folded up tight against his back, like he's trying to make himself as small as possible. He doesn’t look happy about coming back and that's not really helping Dean's paranoia that Cas somehow _knows_ what he did. The best thing he can do right now is pretend that he doesn't. There's a helluva lot more pressing things to be focusing on right now.

“We gotta talk.” Dean points at the other stump-stool opposite him. “Sit.”

He tacks on a 'please' and a smile when Cas almost flinches, actually hesitating before he sits down. The smile doesn't do much, or maybe it doesn't look like Dean hopes it does, because Cas only looks less comfortable as he sits down. Fuck. He totally knows what Dean did and he's got no damn clue how he knows. Might as well cut to the quick and hope to hell that manages to completely distract Cas from everything else right now.

Dean bites his lip for a moment before picking his words. “I told Sam.”

Cas's wings get loose, flicking out slightly in surprise and he blinks at him from across the table, forehead getting all crinkled with confusion just in that way that Dean finds _really_ adorable. “You told Sam what?”

“That you're an Angel. He was pissing me off about stuff and I kind of just – it just popped out.” He waves his hand in a vague gesture. “I called him after you left and I didn't mean for it to happen, but it did. Sorry.”

Now he's got the little head tilt happening and Dean is _fighting_ the thoughts that keep on wanting to call that 'cute'. “Do you trust Sam? Do you trust him like you trust Bobby?”

“Yeah.” Dean nods firmly. Of course he does. Sam is his brother and his best friend, right before Cas.

“Then I don't see a problem.” Cas shrugs and looks away. “Are you hungry? I could make something to eat for lunch now.”

That knocks him for a loop. “Wait – you're not upset? I told Sam your secret.”

“What I am has never been something I consider a secret, Dean.” He looks back at him, face set to the standard neutral Dean is used to. “I'm not ashamed of being a Hamiaah. It was your decision to keep my heritage a secret from your family. I believe you said you weren't telling them to protect me. Your father would have wanted to kill me and Sam would have been extremely nosy because of his studies.”

“Well, yeah. If he believed me, he'd probably be asking you all the shit he can't learn in school because you guys don't share anything with us.”

“That's not true.” Cas stands up and he looks more relaxed now. His wings are sitting normally against his back and he doesn't look so uncomfortable – which is a _huge_ weight off Dean's mind. “There are many humans who know the things I've told you. Like you, they're close friends of the clan – either living with the clan the mate of a Hamiaah, or actively helping us in the war against the Hamiamma. You're my friend and you're going to be a hunter instead of a Hamibaghie – an Angel hunter. That puts you in the latter category and I – it was nice. Getting to tell you about myself.”

Dean gets up and follows Cas into the cave, keeping back enough that he doesn't run the risk of touching Cas's wings or any part of him. He doesn't want to accidentally set off any kind of freak out like Cas had before. “You didn't tell me everything, y'know. I don't know what the thing on your arm or the ones on your feet mean.”

Cas shoves a bowl into his hand and starts dumping ingredients into it. Looks like he's going to make soup again and judging by the big back of flour, it's going to be with the noodles. “The one on my arm symbolizes my odlonshin - my powers.”

“Why didn't you odd-low-shishi –” He gives up. “Why didn’t you use that word before?”

“Oh-dloh-shee-en.” Cas says the syllables slowly for him. “Because you have issues with pronunciation and I didn't want to overwhelm you.” He smirks over his shoulder at Dean, like he just made a joke at his expense. “Since you pronounced Hamiamma so well, I think I'm going to start coaching you in Enochian. There are some verbal spells that will help you in dealing with what you're going to be hunting.”

Dean takes the childish route since he's secretly three years old and sticks his tongue out at him. “What about the ones on your feet?”

“They mark my connection to Caosgi. Many Hamiaah have the same markings – though they're not necessary.” He pauses while adding vegetables to the bowl. “You do remember what Caosgi means, don't you?”

Shit. If he'd known there was going to be a quiz, he'd have spent more time memorizing all the words Cas uses. The best he's got is silence.

“The Earth, Dean.”

“Yeah, I knew that.”

“I'm sure you did.” Cas fills a water jug and carries that ahead of Dean out into the kitchen area. “Now stop trying to distract me and tell me how Sam reacted.”

Damn. He was kind of hoping Cas would just forget about it. If Cas forgets about it, then Dean can forget about it. There are a helluva lot of things from today that he'd like to forget. Heck, he'd trade his kidneys for a reset button to turn time back to last night. If he could do that, maybe he could stop Cas from burning his fingers and then he'd never offer to paint the symbols. Dean is willing to sacrifice everything he learned about Cas today if it means that they won't have this weird _thing_ sitting between them now.

It's there. Cas isn't calling it to attention either, but Dean know it's there. Like a giant, invisible elephant. Dean doesn't even know if he'd call it sexual tension. But it's _something_ and he doesn't really know what to call it. Either Cas does know he jerked off, or he doesn't and he's just being weird because Dean is being weird. Not that he thinks he's being weird – but something is off between them now and Dean doesn't like it.

“He didn't believe me.” Dean grumbles, sitting back at the table with the vegetables. He's back on chopping duty and he's totally okay with that. “He said I shouldn't use his interests to distract from the issue. Basically called me a liar for it and demanded proof.”

“What did you tell him?” Cas looks back at him from the shelf-counter running along the wall.

“Nothing. I hated keeping you a secret like that from Sam, but I'm damn well not sharing anything you've told me with him.” Dean gets a little vicious with his carrot slicing and he doesn't really care. “Like you said, you only share that stuff with clan friends, right? Well, Sam _isn't_ and just because I'm your friend doesn't mean I'm going to go spilling the beans – brother or not.”

Cas hums that little acknowledging noise he makes and Dean can actually _hear_ the smile when he talks. “I appreciate that, Dean. Thank you.” He pauses and Dean looks up when Cas stops moving. It takes a minute or two before Cas says anything again. “Do you – Would you like me to corroborate what you told Sam? If  I confirm it, he might believe you.”

Dean ducks his head and goes back to cutting the vegetables. “Only if you want to, Cas. If you’re comfortable with it. It pisses me off that he won’t take my word on it, but I don’t care if Sam does or doesn’t know what you are. You’re Cas, and that’s all that matters – whether you’ve got wings or not.”

He stops moving at the counter again. When Dean looks up even Cas’s arms aren’t moving and they’re held out with the dough strung between his fingers. Cas’s wings are getting jittery again, feathers fluffing and rustling like they can’t hold still. Those pink pee-somethings are sprouting around his feet again and Dean gets his cell phone out of his pocket to snap a quick picture of them.

“What are those flowers called again?”

That gets Cas moving again. He kicks his foot to the side, sending petals everywhere from one of the flowers. “Peonies.”

After repeating the name to himself few dozen times, Dean’s pretty sure he’s got the name this time and he’ll be able to look them up whenever he gets his hands on a book. In the meantime, he’s going to start keeping a photo-journal of all of the flowers. If Cas doesn’t tell him the names, he can always either look through the book until he finds one, or he can take the pictures to a flower shop and they can name them for him. Either way, Dean _will_ find out what all these flowers mean.

Cas dumps the noodles in the boiling water, adding all the spices and the vegetables and who the hell knows what else into the pot until he’s satisfied when he tastes it. Once they’ve cleaned up, Cas holds his hand out. “I’ll speak to Sam now.”

Dean nearly trips over his own feet as he’s coming back to the table. Cas has that look to him – jaw set, wings tight – that Dean doesn’t second guess. He grabs the satellite phone from the table, turns it back on, and hits speed dial. Instead of handing the phone over to Cas, he puts it on speaker and puts it back on the table. They sit opposite each other and wait for someone to pick up.

“Tony’s Pizza. How may I take your order?”

He rolls his eyes and Cas only raises his eyebrow at him for it, head tilting slightly. “Hey Jess. Say ‘hi’ to Cas too. You’re on speaker.”

“Hi Cas!” Jess sounds way more excited to speak to Cas than she ever has him. “Good to know Dean hasn’t shot everything to shit yet.”

“Get off the phone, Jess.” Dean waves away the other curious look Cas gives him. There’s no way he’s having that conversation. It’s only going to lead to everything he doesn’t want to talk about and he’s going to kill Jess for opening her big mouth. “Where’s Sam?”

“Speaker phone, jerk.”

“I hate you both, bitch.”

Cas’s wings flap a little and he frowns at him. “No you don’t, Dean.” He leans closer to the phone. “He cares for you both very much.”

Dean just barely resist groaning and hiding his face in his hands. “Can we just get this over with?”

“Get what over with?” Jess honestly sounds confused that makes Dean stop. Sam hasn’t told her yet? That’s a new world record. If he knows something, Jess usually knows within seconds. They’re one of those annoying couples who shares _everything_.

“Shit, hold on.” Dean reaches across the table to put his fingers over the mouthpiece. Just in case, he drops his voice to a whisper too. “Do you want Jess to know?”

Cas does the same with his voice, still leaning over the table with his arms crossed on the wood. “Do you trust her like you do Sam?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” It’s true, he does. When he told Sam that he liked guys too, Jess was there. What few times she’s actually talked to John, she’s never mentioned anything she knows that he doesn’t. Frankly, that’s an A plus in Dean’s books.

Dean moves his hand and Cas looks down at the phone again. “You may stay for this, Jess. But please remember that Dean was keeping this a secret for my sake. He was keeping my safety in mind.”

“Sam, what’s he talking about?”

“I’ll fill you in on the _finer_ details later, but basically Dean said Cas is an Angel. I don’t believe him.”

“You should.” Cas glances up at him once before looking back down at the phone and Dean really isn’t sure what that one little look made his stomach somersault up into his ribcage, right around where his lungs should be. “Dean was telling the truth. I am – as you call us – an Angel.”

Dean makes a mental note to punch Sam in the uterus the next time he sees him for the sound he makes then. “I’ll believe that when I have proof. Sorry, Cas. You’re nice and all, and I like you, but your Dean’s friend. He’s convinced his friends to lie for him before and I’m not going to believe Dean made friends with an Angel until I see some proof.”

That maybe hurts a little bit. Dean’s had friends lie to cover his ass when dealing with John, but he’s never had anyone lie to Sam for him. He can’t remember ever lying to Sam – keeping secrets is an entirely different kettle of fish. “What the hell kind of proof do you want?”

“Photographic evidence.” Sam says it way too quickly for Dean to _not_ be suspicious. “Take a picture of you and Cas together. On your phone. If I see it anywhere else than on your phone, I’ll just think it’s a fake. I’ll think you found a picture of an Angel and photoshopped yourself into it.”

“Yeah, like I know how to do that.”

“You’d figure it out if you had to or find someone who could.” Jess adds, like she’s trying to be helpful and she really, really isn’t.

Dean sighs and rubs a hand over his forehead. “Cas, you okay with that? I can delete the picture after I show them, so I won’t be carrying it around or anything.”

He peeks between his fingers when Cas doesn’t say anything. There’s a small frown pinching his eyebrows together, and he’s looking off in the distance over Dean’s shoulder. It takes him a minute to answer. “I don’t mind if you keep a photo of us, Dean. If it were at all possible, I wouldn’t mind having one too.”

Someone on the line makes a high-pitched squeak of a noise and Dean can’t tell if it’s Sam or Jess. Either way, he reaches for the phone. “I’ll have your damn proof for you when I see you next week.” He hangs up before they can accidentally spill any beans or irritate him anymore. “Shit. Sorry, Cas. Are you sure you’re okay with it?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m not ashamed of what I am. You can do with a picture as you will.”

“Then I’ll keep it.” Dean tosses the satellite phone to the couch and pulls out his cell phone. It’s still on and he should probably find the solar charging dock for it in the car before he runs out of battery. But first things first, he’s got to get a picture of him and Cas before he loses the balls to do it. “C’mere. We’ll take a nice picture before lunch and I’ll get Sam to put it on his computer and print you out a copy. If you’re lucky, I might even put it in a nice frame for you.”

Cas gives him another curious look as he gets up and comes around the table. Dean wonders how much of that Cas would have actually understood. The screen on his phone is tiny and the camera isn’t the greatest so Dean isn’t sure how he’s going to manage this. First he tries them standing side by side, but all he gets is Cas’s shoulder and part of his wing.

It takes a few more shots and a little rearranging before he gets one that he likes. Cas’s wing is flared out behind them and he looks a little confused and a little surprised. That might have to do with how Dean got a little fed up and pulled him into the shot with an arm around his waist. But there’s markings, Cas, and a wing in the shot and that should be enough for Sam. If they need more, then it’ll just be another great excuse for him to come right back out here and hang with Cas some more. Maybe next time he’ll bring a proper camera.

“There, how’s that one look?” He holds the phone out for Cas to see. “It’s the best of the bunch, I think. At least I don’t look like a complete ass in it.”

The flare of wings and the little red daisies – and _these_ Dean remembers because they look like feverfew and that’s the nasty tea he had to brew for Cas to help him heal up – spring up around them. He mentally makes a note of them and hopes he’ll actually remember to look them up later.

Cas glances from the picture and up at Dean a few times before he nods.  “Yes, I like that one.” His voice kind of breaks a little bit there and he clears his throat, looking away. “The soup should be ready now.”

And with that, it’s done. Dean puts the phone away and they sit down to lunch. He could start up a conversation about what happened this morning, or ask about the forest and if whatever it called Cas for ended up okay. But Dean has a sneaking suspicion that the forest didn’t call him for diddly squat and Cas was just clearing out for – and he hopes he’s so wrong on this – a breath of fresh air away from Dean because he _knows_ what Dean did.

Maybe Cas is avoiding having that conversation too, because he starts asking Dean what he’s going to do while he’s visiting Sam next week. It’s not like he was planning on going there afterward. Actually, he was going to start hunting after leaving Cas’s place. But he’ll take any excuse to go and visit Sam, and Jess, and their TV, and Jess’s Doctor Sexy boxset.

That conversation leads off into talking about hunting the supernatural. It’s a talk that they lose the whole afternoon to as Cas tells him everything about Demons. Dean listens and he takes notes at the table so he can share them with Bobby. Cas doesn’t mind that they know about the existence of Hamiamma, as long as he doesn’t share _where_ they come from. He remembers the thing about salt and a spell word – Christo – that reveals a Demon for what they are. It’s all about the black eyes, apparently.

A Demon’s eyes turn black – and Cas means _all_ of the eye, and Dean thinks that’s going to be creepy as fuck the first time that he sees it – when they’re using their powers. According to Cas, there’s been a few reported sightings of Hamiamma with white or yellow eyes, but he’s never seen them himself so he’s not sure how reliable that information is.

While Dean gets started on supper – tonight is pizza night again – Cas writes out a list of words for Dean to learn. They practice them while they eat and Dean decides he hates Enochian. Everything is all hard syllables and they don’t make much sense when they’re written in English. At least not to him. For Cas, it’s all the same apparently. Dean says a silent ‘thank you’ that Cas isn’t making him memorize the Enochian alphabet too. That would just be torture.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough.” He flips the cover closed on the notebook and shoves it away. “My brain can’t take anymore learning. No more.”

“I stopped telling you things an hour ago, Dean. You’re welcome to sit and read with me now.” Cas doesn’t even look up from his book. He’s sitting at one end of the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him. “Are you still reading that western?”

“Nah, I’m on a different one now.” He gets up to go find that one in his bag. “What are you starting on?”

“Harry Potter. It’s been good so far.”

“I only bring you the best, Cas.” Dean sits at the opposite end of the couch and he is completely aware of every inch of space he’s leaving between them. It’s like a canyon and he hates it, but after this morning Dean’s not sure if he could stand being that close to Cas again right now. The whole thing with the pictures was necessary and he didn’t really think about it since the pictures was his priority and he didn’t even think twice about pulling Cas in like that.

Dean gets twenty pages more into his book before he realizes he can’t remember reading any of it. He doesn’t have a damn clue what happened because he’s too wrapped up in thinking if Cas would mind if he stretched out on the couch and put his feet in his lap or something. But Cas still hasn’t even gotten properly dressed and he’s only wearing the loincloth right now. Which means he’s basically naked in the picture he took and he’s going to have a hell of a time trying to explain to Sam and Jess what actually happened. He’ll probably have to start from the beginning and then they’re both going to chew him out for being a dumbass and sitting straight in Cas’s lap like he did.

Fuck.

There’s no way he’s going to be able to pay any kind of attention to the book if he starts thinking about that again. That’s a dangerous road to head down and he needs to change tracks before his train of thought decides it’ll be a good idea to stop at fantasy land or something equally stupid. Metaphors suck and he shouldn’t even bother trying to come up with them.

He’s still trying to work out the stupid train metaphor when Cas’s wing knocks him in the shoulder – and it’s not gently either. Dean opens his mouth to say something – say anything, but the look on Cas’s face shuts him up quick. There’s a hard mix of surprise and horror painted all over his face and Dean’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the book. Mostly because Cas is on his feet and dumping the book before Dean can even blink.

“Stay where you are, Dean. Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t even _breathe_.” He hisses at him, crossing the room to the entrance and in long steps.

Cas is all kinds of tense. Dean can see it in wings and his body and his hand is a trembling fist at his side. For once, Dean actually wants to follow the instructions given to him. But at the same time, he wants to get up and follow him. He wants to find out what the hell has Cas acting like this. What has him looking like he’s wound tight enough to crack something? What could have him going outside when it’s well after dark and pushing later into the evening?

Dean’s answers is in the sound of wings. More than one set, if he had to guess. And they’re not little bird wings. It’s the same kind of sound he’s heard whenever Cas has landed by him and that can only mean one thing.

 _Angels_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Coriander: Lust  
> \- Orange Lilies: Desire  
> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Red Daisy: Beauty unknown to possessor


	24. Angels Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is that the truth, Castiel?” Uriel asks, his voice carrying just enough of a warning to it that it sends a chill down Castiel's spine. “Or are we not welcome because of the Human you're hiding?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

Castiel forces himself to at least appear calm as he brushes aside the vines and moss that cover the entrance to his salman. He’d heard the beat of their wings as they had circled the clearing. From that alone, Castiel determines that there are three of them – he just doesn’t know _who_ it is, but he doesn’t expect any of them to be friendly. He can only hope that Dean will listen to his warning.

It’s no surprise that the clan sent members from the garrison he once commanded. They were once what he would have considered friends – and they would best be able to combat his fighting style if it became necessary. Castiel keeps his wings from spreading threateningly as he joins them outside. By showing no reaction, they should – and he’s hoping for this – think that he’s not bothered by their presence.

Instead, Castiel summons his powers and releases them into the ground. Glowing mushrooms layer themselves up along the trunks of the trees behind him, and spread out in wide patches to light the three angels standing at the edge of the ring of light that falls through the openings on the front of the salman. It’s a meager lighting, but his eyes are still sharp in the dark.

It's been so long since he's seen their faces that it takes a moment for Castiel to remember their names. He dips his head, the closest he'll give to a greeting, and reverts to using his native tongue. Whatever is going to be said isn't something that Dean needs to hear. He can tell him about it later if he absolutely has to. Knowing Dean, he'll be insistent enough that Castiel might not have a choice. He already has enough trouble telling him ‘no’.

“Uriel. Hester. Rachel. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“We'll be brief.” Rachel is the first to speak and Castiel briefly wonders if she is the one in charge of his garrison now.

Uriel was once his second in command. He should have taken over when Castiel had fallen from grace. Rachel would then have been Uriel's second in command if he had taken over. The way they're standing, shoulder to shoulder, gives away nothing about which of them is in command now. He does notice that Uriel continues to glance over Castiel’s shoulder and he resolutely tries to ignore it, hoping that if he doesn’t address it then it won’t be brought up. He doesn’t hear Dean or sense him behind him, but there are likely many signs that he isn’t alone here.

“This isn't a social visit.” Hester speaks bluntly and he is immediately distract from his worry.

Castiel just barely restrains himself from rolling his eyes. He refrains from saying anything or even moving. His wings are tucked to his back and his arms are hanging loosely at his sides. He's well aware that he's nearly naked in nothing but his qaa and they're dressed in tight fitting woven clothing that doesn’t restrict their movements in a fight.

It's what a soldier wears under their light armour and Castiel doesn't miss it. He finds full outfits to be confining and he'll only suffer wearing it during the winter. In all other instances, he prefers the wrap he made himself and the others that he's traded for over the years. Their outfits leave their arms bare, showing the markings that symbolize their powers on one arm and the clan symbol on the other. Their feet bear the markings that connect them to Caosgi, but anything else is hidden unless they wear more casual clothing.

Until he chose to live out here, Castiel used to also wear his clan symbol on his arm. It’s standard for warriors. When he moved here and wore casual clothes more often, he changed the symbols to how they are now. He prefers it this way. Even if his clan doesn’t want him, he still feels a measure of loyalty towards them. It’s a strong clan and wearing its symbol on his chest would usually dissuade anyone who belongs to a smaller clan from causing problems for him.

Silence rests in the glade for a few moments before Uriel steps forward. Only the one in command would do that and Castiel is only mildly surprised that after fifty years Uriel maintains his position. Of course, that doesn't mean that Uriel's status hasn't risen. For all Castiel knows, Uriel might not actually be in charge of the garrison anymore. It's not like anyone has been keeping him informed about everything happening in the clan – ranks or otherwise.

“I'll keep it short, Castiel. War is coming.”

“We've been at war with the Hamiamma for centuries.”

“Our pathetic attempts to control their insanity has been nothing compared to what is coming. The Hamiamma weren't commanded by _Lucifer_ before.” Uriel tenses at the name and even Hester and Rachel look uncomfortable with him speaking it. It reminds Castiel of how the wizards act when Harry says the name of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named in that new book he’s reading. “You must have heard of him, even living secluded as you do.”

The story of what happened to Lucifer was well known long before Castiel had chosen to leave the clan. It's been ages since he heard of it last, but he remembers it well. Lucifer was a clan leader for one of the clans on the lower continent. It no longer exists as a separate entity now, having joined with another clan after a devastating attack. It was never confirmed how many hamibaghie were a part of the attack, but half the clan died that day and Lucifer suffered the cruelest fate that could befall a Hamiaah and an Iaidon. He lost so many of those he had sworn to protect and the hamibaghie stripped him of his wings. The hamibaghie left him alive – though it's not known if that was on purpose or not.

Left flightless, disgraced for failing his clan, and weakened considerably – it’s said that it all drove Lucifer mad. His wounds had barely healed before he disappeared. To Castiel's knowledge, Lucifer hasn't been seen or heard from in decades. Even though he hasn’t thought about it in years, he always assumed that Lucifer had wandered to some secluded place to end his life. He had vanished not long before Castiel had moved to this end of the mountain range.

“He's gathering the Hamiamma and their children. They flock to him as if he were their shepherd.” Uriel continues to explain though Castiel gave him no answer. “He claims his clan was revealed to the hamibaghie by other Hamiaah and now he's declaring war on everyone – Humans and Hamiaah alike.”

“Why wasn't I told of this at the clan gathering? Balthazar never mentioned anything.”

“He was instructed not to.” Rachel murmurs, choosing to stare out into the forest than look Castiel in the eye. “It was thought that if you knew about what was happening, you would have wanted to return to the clan.”

Fifty years and nothing has changed. _Nothing_. It's like a sliver of ice in Castiel's heart and his nails dig into his palms. He keeps none of the venom from his voice when he speaks. “If I am so hated for the colour of my wings and the deaths I caused, why have you come? To make sure that if Lucifer was to ask, I wouldn't join him?”

“You've been absolved of your mistake.” Hester remains blunt, as she has been since Castiel met her. “Iaidon and his councilors have long recognized that it was not your fault. You had no way of knowing the Hamiamma would retaliate with an earthquake.”

Castiel has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything that he might regret. It may have taken them fifty years to realize this and his conscience might never feel cleared of the one hundred and thirty one lives that were taken by the earthquake when it caused so much destruction along the west coast – but it means almost nothing that Iaidon and the councilors have forgiven him. Hester said nothing about whether or not the rest of the clan accepted their decision. If they’ve long recognized that it wasn’t his fault, why is he still treated so poorly at the clan gatherings? Why would they be worried he’d want to return if he’d learned about the pending war?

A part of him wants to remain hopeful. That little bit of forgiveness could be a small start to being accepted among the rest of the clan again. He doesn't know if being officially exonerated will have any sway on the other members of the clan or how they'll look at him, he wants to be hopeful if only for a little while. He'll still have his black wings and even before his disgrace he had to deal with dirty looks from people who considered him unlucky – a harbinger of some greater tragedy. Doubtless some will likely try and blame him and his melanistic wings for Lucifer's war. Each new thought only makes it harder to hold onto those weak coals of hope that try to spark brighter in his chest.

“Goholor.” Uriel's use of his old title is like a physical blow and Castiel looks to him sharply, slightly awed to be hearing it again. Goh-hoh-loh-rah. It sounds so familiar and foreign to him “With your disgrace forgiven, your status is restored. The clans are gathering their warriors and divisions will be sent from the southern clans to strengthen ours. We're preparing for war and you are being called back to duty.”

“Are you joking?” Castiel hisses, wings flaring wide and casting shadows in the light from the salman. He keeps his voice low and dangerous, hoping Dean can’t hear him. “I've dealt with your hatred for decades and you think telling me that I'm forgiven will make all that just go away? I had to move into solitude just for some measure of peace. I've been treated as a Hamiamma or worse and Iaidon thinks I'll just return because he's called?”

Hester's wings flare in response, feathers spreading to double the size of her wings as she moves forward. “As a warrior, you are re-”

“I haven't been a _warrior_ in fifty years.”

One of Uriel's wings, the white feathers at odds with his dark skin, snaps out to stop Hester from advancing anymore. “This is a request, Castiel. We are not forcing you to do anything you don't want to. There are many warriors who have retired that are not returning to service now. But Iaidon – Raphael – is most insistent in _asking_ you to return. He – all of us here – acknowledge that you are skilled and we would benefit from your return.”

“Please, Castiel.” Rachel steps forward, her wings under better control than Hester's. “You must understand how important this is. You are a member of our clan and -”

“It certainly hasn't felt like it.” He cuts in again.

Hester's fingers twitch and Castiel can smell the moisture gathering in the air. Her odlonshin revolves around the ability to manipulate water, symbolized by the rippling lines and waves on her arm. If she puts her all into it, Hester could form a storm directly above the clearing with torrential rains. At the first distant rumble, as clouds gather in the darkness above them, Castiel remembers that Dean is inside. It the belief that Angels caused the death of his mother that gives him a fear of storms and Castiel is certain that Dean knows there are Hamiaah here now. The last thing he needs is Dean having some kind of panic attack – or worse, thinking that he needs to defend him in some way.

He sighs, letting his wings and shoulders droop as if he's given up. “Enough, Hester. Release the storm. Uriel, if this is truly a request, how long am I being given to think it over?”

Uriel's head tilts slightly, regarding Castiel with a calculating look. “There are groups – hunters, sentries, and others – that are being gathered too. Our hope is to have everyone summoned within a month. The more warriors we have to defend the clan when we are at our weakest during the mating season, the better.”

“The mating season doesn't happen until the winter solstice. That's months away.”

“Training and preparation is required.” Rachel gestures vaguely, looking away again. She seems to have a great deal of trouble looking at him and if Castiel wasn't so used to it, he might be hurt by it. “As you said, you haven't been a warrior in a long time. There's much that you and others have to learn again. And we need to build our strategies. There's so much to do and such little time to do it. Hamiamma aren't afflicted with the mating season like we are.”

The weight of the situation feels like it's pressing on him from all sides and Castiel suddenly feels very tired. “You want my answer in a month, then?”

“No more than two.” Uriel nods. “There's only three months until the solstice.”

“Fine.” Castiel turns away, glancing back into the salman. Dean hasn't made any noise yet and he considers it a small blessing. “I'll give you my answer in a month.”

There's a moment of silence where Castiel contemplates returning inside without another word to them, but Hester beats him too it with an unhappy, frustrated noise. “Are you going invite us in or not? We're not flying out again this late at night.”

He wants to be the bigger person here and invite them in, but there's a bitterness fixed around his heart and he has to think about Dean too. With the addition of the table and with Dean sleeping on the othil, there's not enough room on the floor for three other bodies. And Uriel isn't fond of Humans to start with. Castiel wouldn't want to suffer him under the same roof as a Human – let alone with Dean.

“There are plenty of high trees for you to roost in for the night. If you require blankets or food, I'll give you that much. But you're as welcome in my home as I have been in yours.” Castiel says it over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around to face them.

“Is that the truth, Castiel?” Uriel asks, his voice carrying just enough of a warning to it that it sends a chill down Castiel's spine. “Or are we not welcome because of the Human you're hiding?”

Of course it was too much to hope that they hadn't noticed his scent. It's been so long since this morning that any lingering scent of what Castiel did alone in Juniper's branches has long dissipated. The same can be said for Dean's. Castiel likely wouldn't have been able to stay if he’d come back to find that dark, delicious scent still clinging to Dean's skin. But even if that is long gone, it doesn't mean that Castiel’s home isn't filled with the scent of another. He can smell Dean from here – whether it's him or the fading trail left from his last trip to the sand patch, it's obvious enough that he shouldn't have even bothered hoping that they wouldn't notice.

“I'm not hiding anyone.” Castiel turns around, wings held impassively. Even though Dean doesn't understand Enochian, Castiel is certain that he's been listening since the beginning. He switches to English now so Dean will understand. “Dean is my guest and a friend. He also happens to be a Human and a hunter – and he _isn’t_ a hamibaghie.”

Thankfully, Hester and Rachel look unbothered by the news. Uriel, on the other hand, looks like he can barely contain his contempt. His wings keep shuffling against his back and his upper lip is twitching. Castiel would rather not introduce Dean to them and risk someone from the clan finding out that he told their biggest secret. Death is more preferable to the punishment he would receive for sharing that information. He only made Dean promise not to tell anyone, but Castiel never told Dean what would happen to him if he did.

They would take his _wings_.

It’s with no small amount of carefully concealed nervousness that he calls for Dean to join them outside.

x

Dean kneels by the fire pit, watching the pages of his notebook curl and fall apart between the logs. He'd been _really_ fucking quiet when he'd crawled from the couch to his bag to get the notebook. Hell, he'd been a goddamn _ninja_ when he'd crossed the room to the fire to burn all the evidence that he’d been told anything about Demons. When Cas had made him swear on absolutely everything he holds dear – Sam, the impala, Bobby, Jess, John – it had kinda clicked that telling him about the Hamiamma was a big fucking deal.

And Dean'll be damned before he gets Cas in trouble with his clan - though there's still the chance that just having a Human here will be a big problem for the guys outside. Cas said that the Angels are the good guys and Dean wants to believe him. And he does – to some extent. But twenty-six years of believing Angels are out to fuck Humans over at every opportunity is a little hard to kick. It'll take more than a month for him to change how he's been wired his whole life – even if Cas is making leaps and bounds in the department.

It probably really helps matters that Dean's basically gonzo on the bastard.

It's taking a hell of a lot of his self control to not get his glock out of the bottom of his bag and keep that and a few magazines of ammo with him while he's waiting for _something_ to happen. So far all he's heard is Cas, what sounds like two chicks and a dude _talking_ it up out there. Cas doesn't exactly sound pleased. He keeps slipping from the flat tones Dean hasn't heard since they first met to something almost bordering on _angry_. One of the girls keeps sounding like she's ready for a throw down while the guy sound robotic and the other is just – she's just a voice. Dean can't really tell a whole lot from just eavesdropping like he is. She just sounds like it's a normal conversation for her and that could, in most contexts, be considered a good thing. Couldn't it?

When Cas actually sounds _enraged_ , Dean nearly goes for the weapons just to run outside with guns blazing. He's got no idea what's going on since they're barking away in Enochian, but he doesn't like that they're actually managing to get _Cas_ pissed off. Dean's had his moments over the last few months where he's expected Cas to be upset with him, to raise his voice and actually _yell_ , but he has this thing where his voice just gets really firm and he's mastered the look that would instill the fear of God in even the most hard headed non-believers.

He doesn’t move besides one little twitch of his hand. He's not going to do anything to fuck this up for Cas. Dean has no idea what's going on out there, but he knows this is the first time in pretty much forever that someone has come out here to visit Cas. Whether they're friend or foe, Dean isn't going to mess things up for him. Cas told him to stay put and he's mostly stuck to that. He'd like to think that he was stealthy enough that nobody noticed him moving around in here, so he'll stick to Cas's orders until he's told otherwise.

All of that almost goes out the window when Dean hears the thunder. A tight, painful panic flares hard in his chest and he’s on his feet, listening intently for anything else beyond the voices just outside. But the thunder never comes again and the longer he waits, the more he relaxes. His nerves sure are taking one hell of a beating today.

When Cas switches to English, Dean starts paying attention to the words. From what he can tell, Cas doesn't want them to know that he used to hunt Angels. But that's a given. The last thing Dean wants to broadcast when surrounded by Angels is that he's a fucking _hami-bah-jiji_ or however the fuck that's pronounced, let alone a Winchester – best in the business and all that.

“Dean.” Cas calls his name and it's carrying a sharp authority that only reinforces all the times he's told Dean that he used to be a warrior. “Come out here, please.”

Don't grab a gun. Don't grab a gun. Leave the devana. It goes against fucking _everything_ that he knows, but he leaves all his weapons where they are. This is for Cas. He can do this for Cas. He won't even take a frikken _stick_ with him. He's going to go out there naked like a baby – except for his clothes. He'll keep those on.

Cas looks a little relieved when Dean steps outside, his shoulders relaxing slightly. Dean is wearing a hoodie instead of his jacket. It's not exactly cold out – but his jacket is bulky enough that they might think he's carrying a weapon and he's trying for a _good_ first impression.

“This is my friend, Dean.” Cas puts his hand on his shoulder the moment he's in reach, stopping him short. The grip actually kind of hurts. “I will warn you now, if you are a risk to his safety, I will not hesitate to protect him from you.”

Dean's not exactly sure how that's supposed to make him feel. His first reaction is annoyance – he's a big boy, he can take care of himself. Right after that is a sinking sense of foreboding because holy shit, are these three that bad that they might actually hurt him? Cas is looking straight at the big guy in the middle, so maybe it's more to him than it is to the blonde ladies beside him. Either way, Dean kind of regrets coming outside.

“This is Hester.” Cas starts on the left, gesturing at a woman with blonde hair past her shoulders. She's got a severe kind of look to her and Dean's pretty sure she's the angry-voiced one. “Uriel.” He points out the guy in the middle next, before gesturing at the younger looking woman (though Dean is well aware of how completely deceiving that can be). “And Rachel. They're warriors I used to command when I was still a soldier.”

It's time for the preservation instincts to kick in. He's got those out the wazoo – and they’re probably the only reason he’s still alive right now. Dean slaps on his nicest smile – patented to make men and women alike go weak in the knees – and waves at the same time Cas's hand slides off his shoulder. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

“Castiel tells us you're a hunter.” The way Uriel is looking at him could peel paint from the walls and Dean's instincts are pegging him as one of the Angels who doesn't like Humans all that much.

“Hoping to be, yeah.” Dean nods, glancing at Cas once with an easy smile. Maybe if he keeps acting like he's not about to jump out of his skin, he'll actually start believing it. “I've been training for a while and I thought I was ready. But running into Cas taught me that I'm really not.”

It's a shame that Hester keeps scowling. She's a pretty lady and it's not doing anything for her at all. “And what has he taught you?”

“A lot of stuff.” Dean shrugs and tries to look a little confused. He's normally really good at lying through his teeth so he's _really_ hoping that Cas hasn't been hiding something about some kind of freaky mind reading ability so far. “You're going to have to narrow it down.”

“Do you know what a Hamiaah is?”

Dean tilts his head and actually frowns. “Sounds like a kind of sushi. Isn't that the one with the eel?”

She makes a weird face and shares a look with Uriel. Dean pretends he's perking up and looks back at Cas. “Wait, that was Enochian, right? Yeah, I don't know any of that. Cas rarely uses it and when he does it's only to name things like the couch and stuff around the house. It all goes right over my head usually. If it's not something I need to know, I don't learn it.”

“How long have you and Castiel been friends?” Rachel asks and Dean mentally high-fives himself for matching their names to their voices perfectly.

“Since – shit, when was it Cas?”

“It was still spring.” Cas looks a little more relaxed than he did when Dean came out here, but he knows Cas well enough to see the little ticks in his expression. He's uncomfortable and he probably wants this over with as soon as possible. “I believe it was the fourth month of the year.”

“Right, right.” He nods, looking back at the others and keeping the smile firmly fixed on his face – even if it is starting to feel strained. He doesn't like the way Uriel is glaring at him and Hester looks like she'd sooner bat an eye knock him off his feet with a punch than bat an eyelash. Rachel doesn't look anymore friendly, but she's not radiating hostility like the other two. “It was mid-April.”

Of course Dean hasn't forgotten when they met. He's got the date memorized and everything. Ask him to remember Bobby's birthday and he _might_ be able to give you the month (it starts with a 'j', probably). But the day he met Cas? Dean's got it down to the day of the week. Yeah, he can scratch that off of Jess's 'You're In Love With Him' list. Oh, who is he kidding? Sam's the one keeping the list.

“It doesn't take half a year to learn to be a hunter.” Rachel points out as if it's general knowledge. She's got a bright eyed look to her, like she's trying to trap him the same way the others are.

Cas opens his mouth to answer, but Dean beats him to the punch. “I only stay out here for a week or two every month or so. There are hunts – like salt and burns – I can do on my own that I don't need an encyclopedia of supernatural knowledge to handle. It's the unique things – like a wendigo – that Cas teaches me about. The stuff that I don't run into on every hunt. He could probably teach me all that in a month, but I'm stretching it out for all it's worth.”

That gets a sharp look from Cas and suspicious squints in triplicate from the three stooges. Dean just keeps smiling and he shrugs again. “If I don't do that, then what excuse am I going to have to keep coming back to hang out with my best friend?”

With the light from the house behind them and the mushrooms doing a shitty job of lighting their faces, Dean isn't sure if Cas actually blushes or not – but the odds are in favour that he totally does. His wings kind of twitch a little, like he barely catches them from spreading and his eyes get a little rounder while he stares at Dean. There aren’t any flowers though and Dean is almost disappointed. But the chances are that Cas is probably keeping his powers in check right now.

“Your 'best friend' is an Angel?” Rachel sounds skeptical and that strikes a chord with him. This is the second time today that someone doesn't believe him that he's friends with an Angel and it just brings back the hurt from when Sam refused to believe him too.

“Yeah. That a problem?” Dean straightens his shoulders and lets his smile slip a little.

Uriel raises an eyebrow and Hester's frown somehow actually gets _deeper_. Rachel doesn't exactly look all that happy by his answer either, but at least she doesn't look like she'd rather see him dead that standing next to Cas.

“No, it's not a problem, Dean.” Cas puts his hand on his shoulder again. “No one has a say about who I chose to be friends with except for me. If they take issue with it, they can keep it to themselves.”

“I don't see why it's a problem.” He mumbles, looking at Cas and putting his best sad face on. “You're a good guy. Who wouldn't want to be your friend?” The whole effect is ruined by the wink he adds, but it gets an eye-smile from Cas and more of that toxic tension leaves his shoulders. Dean counts it as a personal victory.

Hester makes a sound that's halfway between a snort and a snarl. “If you're just _friends_ , why are your fingers black with the dye of our markings? Yours are freshly painted, Castiel, and it's obvious that not all of the lines were painted properly.”

Shit. Dean's stomach sinks past his shoes and he looks down at his right hand. He'd forgotten all about how they were dyed and he should have probably kept them hidden or something. Well, damn. What the hell is he supposed to tell them? Lie? Truth? Fuck.

Cas answers for him and it's with the truth, at first. It changes when he says that they weren't able to find the paintbrush and it was only because Dean was getting frustrated with the state of the lines that he tried looking for it again. By then, according to the lie, Cas's hands were healed enough to continue painting his markings on his own.

“Enough.” Uriel says it with a finality that Dean really doesn't want to say anything against. “This is going to make me lose my supper.”

He switches to Enochian again after that and points at the moon while he talks to Cas. Whatever he says makes Cas go all tense again and his expression goes hard, like stone. Dean doesn't like it and the moment they're alone, he's going to find out what the hell is going on. He just really hopes that Cas will be willing to share. Otherwise, Dean is going to be one hell of an unhappy camper. Though from the way it's looking, Dean might not get a chance to talk to Cas until tomorrow.

“Would you like some blankets for your roost?” Cas asks, monotone and in English and Dean is almost positive that he's doing it just to rile Uriel up.

“Your home stinks of the mud-monkey.” Uriel snaps back and Dean wishes he wasn't so right all the time. “Anything from it is going to reek of your pet.”

Dean would object, but Cas's hand is still on his shoulder and his grip goes tight enough that there are _definitely_ going to be bruises there in the morning. Cas starts saying things in Enochian again and this time he's wearing his smite-face. While he’s hissing what can’t be nice things, going by his tone alone, Cas actually turns Dean around by his shoulder, shoving him a few steps toward the hanging vines and moss. The moment Cas's hand is gone, Dean turns around again to see Uriel walking off across the field. Hester looks like she wants to follow and Rachel is rolling her eyes.

“If it's alright with you, I'd like a blanket.” Rachel turns to Cas and actually _smiles –_ it's small and maybe a little strained around the edges, but it's nicer than anything the others have given. “Please.”

Cas nods and looks at Hester and Dean has never seen someone look so _dramatic_ about frikken blankets. She looks like she's torn between stomping off after Uriel and asking for a blanket of her own. When he doesn't get an answer, Cas turns around and frowns at Dean, gesturing for him to get a move on. They go back inside together and Dean drops his voice to a whisper, following Cas into the cave in search of spare blankets that haven't been used to pad the nest.

“How come they're sleeping outside?”

“Uriel doesn't like Humans and he doesn't want to be near you.” Cas finds one roll and starts looking for another in the piles of rolled mats and things in one of the corners of the caves. “And I never extended an invitation to them to stay in here.”

“How come? Weren't they your subordinates?”

“They’ve ostracized me just as much as everyone else did, Dean. I'll give them the same care that they gave me.”

That's a damn good point, but Dean was raised to treat women right and he doesn't really like the idea of letting a couple ladies sleep out in the cold. Not to mention that that they flew all the way from wherever the clan is to here and who knows what the hell might get at them – Uriel included – during the night. Tree-snakes are a thing, aren't they?

Cas finds another blanket, but he stops the moment he turns around. Dean can feel the scrutinizing look in the dark of the and not for the first time tonight does he wonder just how well can Angels see in the dark.

It takes Cas a minute before he sighs. “You want me to offer them shelter for the night.” It’s not a question.

“You don't have to if you don't want to, Cas.” He turns away, ducking back out of the cave and into the main area. “You've got every reason to be pissed off at your entire clan and I won't hold it against you for wanting to get back at them for it.”

“But you still want me to invite them in.”

He shrugs helplessly and gestures vaguely at where he sleeps. “They're _ladies_ , Cas. You don't let ladies sleep in trees when you can offer them a couch and a bed made out of mats.”

“They're _warriors_.” Cas points out, brushing past him. “This won't be the first night they've slept in trees and it certainly won't be the last. Besides, _you_ sleep on the othil. I don't have enough mats or room for two Angels to sleep in here too.”

“If you let them sleep in here, you’ll prove that you’re the better person.” Dean keeps his voice low, who knows if Hester and Rachel are listening or not. “You don't have to be – hell, _I_ wouldn't be. And if you need the room, I can go sleep in the car. They'll have the couch and the floor – or your nest if you want to be a gentleman.”

“No!” Cas spins around at the same time that his wings flare and Dean nearly trips over a stump-stool while jumping back out of the way. “Under no circumstances are you to go outside while it's dark out and without me. If Uriel even slightly suspects that I might have given you information about the clan, he won't hesitate to kill you and report me for it. You are going to sleep where I can keep you safe.”

Dean is getting really tired of being right. And he's getting really tired of not knowing when to quit instead of letting his mouth run off. “Then are you going to stay up all night? What's going to stop him from sneaking in during the night and knifing me on the couch? You're going to be up in the nest and I'm going to be down here. Anything that can sneak quietly enough will be able to get me.”

“I very well might not be able to sleep tonight.” Cas's voice drops and he looks away. “There's so much on my mind right now that I don't know if I'll get any rest.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

“No.” Cas looks back at him and mouths what Dean is pretty sure is 'later'. Guess he thinks that the others might be listening too and it's something that they can't know that Cas is sharing with him. Which means it's important as hell and probably has to do with the clan. Great. “It's not for you to know, Dean.” He winks for the extra touch and now Dean is pretty sure even _he_ won't be able to sleep tonight.

“Yeah, okay. I get it.” He sighs and slumps down on the stool. Even with the sinking feeling in his stomach that kind of makes him want to throw up, Dean is still starting to feel tired. It's late and he's had one hell of a day. “Do what you want, Cas. I'm behind you one hundred percent.”

Cas's wings flap slightly, kicking up sparks in the fire pit. He glances around the room a few times before sighing too and his shoulders slump a little. He looks about as tired as Dean feels. “Wait a moment – I'll find out if Hester or Rachel even want to stay.”

Dean looks up, frowning. “Didn't you say there wasn't enough room? Oh, wait. Am I going to sleep in the cave?” He really doesn’t want to sleep in the cave.

“You'll still be out of my sight and I won't be able to get to you quickly enough if anyone tries to do anything to you while I'm in my nest.” Cas turns away and his wings are starting to do that nervous twitchy thing that they do. “Let me see what the arrangements will be. If they're staying, we can work out where we'll sleep afterward.”

He can't help looking at the floor, expecting any number of flowers to pop up at some point soon. They usually do when Cas's wings get like that and it's usually those pink ones. Shit, he learned the name today, didn't he? Right! _Peonies_.

Maybe it's because he's distracted with looking for the flowers that he doesn't stop himself from saying what comes out of his mouth next. “The only place you'll be able to keep an eye on me and where I'll be close enough to 'save' – and that's entirely unnecessary, by the way. I _can_ take care of myself. The only place would be your nest.”

And there's the peonies, right on cue. He's pleased with himself for all of two seconds until it sets in what he said and how completely and utterly still Cas has gone. Dean catches himself just before he actually smacks himself in the forehead. This isn't an anime, dammit, and he's never seen anyone that he knows actually smacking themselves like that.

When it comes to things having to do with Cas, Dean really needs to _not_ let his brain go on autopilot. He needs to stay fully functional and not distracted by fucking _flowers_ when he's around him. If he's not careful, one of these days he might accidentally blurt something incriminating. Anything from this morning is a prime example.

There are probably a million other things that he could have suggested, but not a single one of them is coming to mind. Dean just basically suggested _sharing Cas's nest_. He's sitting under it right now and there is no way in hell that two people are going to be able to lay in it without touching one another. And 'lay' is a relative term because that thing looks like a basket and Dean is pretty sure that the only position Cas sleeps in while he's in there is curled up in a ball or the fetal position or something. If he tried sleeping in there like he does when he's on the floor next to Dean, there would be limbs hanging out of it every which way.

The worst thing about all of this is that Cas still isn't moving. His feathers are starting to shift again, but he's not moving or turning around and Dean is caught between being terrified and being deliriously hopeful that Cas is actually _considering_ this. He's half wishing that Hester and Rachel say they're staying out there with Uriel because if he's got to sleep that close to Cas again, there's probably going to be sleep cuddles and it's probably going to be him starting it up again. The other half of him – the silent majority that's decided to make itself really vocal right now and prove that it's not just a _half_ – is that they do want to stay so he’ll have a legitimate excuse to sleep as close to Cas as physically possible. Which is really something he shouldn’t be wanting after the shit he pulled this morning.

Jesus. When the hell was the last time he was this torn up about something? He can't remember. Everything other thought has jumped ship and he's down to just staring dumbly at Cas's back until he does something. It's not a long wait and Cas doesn't exactly _run_ , but he ducks outside pretty damn fast and Dean doesn't bother holding back on the forehead slap now.

After all the crap form this morning with painting Cas's symbols – not even mentioning how he jerked off afterwards (and he's really damn sure that Cas knows _somehow_ ) –  this is just the cherry on the pie. It's like the goal of this day is to get him as frustrated – sexually, emotionally, mentally, and all the other 'lys' – as possible. And this is just the first day of his visit. If the rest of the week is going to be anything like today, Dean's going to have to draw up his will in the morning because this week will without a doubt be the death of him.

The voices outside are low and talking in Enochian again. And Dean's just sitting in here staring at peonies, bouncing his knee and on the verge of tearing his hair out because he's just so fucking _stupid_. His nest. For the love of all that is flakey and gooey, he’s going to be sleeping in Cas’s _nest_.

When Cas comes back in and Dean can't tell if it's the firelight or a blush that's making him look so red. “Clean up your things, Dean. We're having guests for the night.” He very pointedly does _not_ make eye contact when he puts the blankets on the table. “It will take me a half hour or so to make my nest big enough to hold us both comfortably. Please lay out the mats for another bed while I do that.”

A swear-track puts itself on repeat in his head and Dean's really lucky that's not what comes out of his mouth when he open its. All he makes is some kind of noise that might mean he ‘sure’. It also might mean that he's on the verge of having a panic attack and Cas should call a doctor.

The first thing he does, while Hester and Rachel are still outside, is change into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. He does that as far back in the cave as possible, storing all his weapons back there at the same time. The less of a chance he gives them of seeing his hunter mark, the better. And he’s not sure how well known the devana is among the Angels, so she should stay just as hidden as that.

He makes a few trips to store all his shit in the back of the cave. Cas has him move all the Human things too – including the grill and the coolers. While he does all that, Cas kneels in his nest to make it more Dean-friendly. Every time Dean goes by, there are more and more vines strung across the ceiling. They're going from wall to wall instead of hanging from the pinnacle like they were before. More than once Dean stops what he's doing just to stare up and watch Cas at work.

The blue light is glowing under his feathers while he works, but as awesome as that looks it's not what Dean's distracted by. It's the _vines_. Cas manipulates them like they're puppets, weaving them over and under each other without even touching them as he makes one grow on a tree and cross the room to grow directly into another tree. Dean clues in closer toward the end that he's turning it from a basket into something almost like a kind of trampoline-net. It's all kinds of breathtaking watching Cas work and Dean is pretty sure watching is just making him fall a little more in love with him.

That thought is what chases him back to cleaning up the couch and laying out the mats next to it.

By the time he's all done and the place is spotless, Cas looks about ready to fall over. If he’s doing this to keep Dean safe, it’s kind of counterproductive for him to wring himself out like that, isn’t it? His wings are drooping and he looks _tired_ by the time he slips between a space in the vines and drops to the ground. The biggest gap in the vines is directly over the table.

With Cas staying at the entrance while Hester and Rachel settle in to make themselves comfortable, Dean ducks around the side of the house to use the piss patch. He uses the hand sanitizer in his bag back in the cave and brushes his teeth there, spitting into a pot that Cas gives him for it. It's just a quick goodnight to their 'visitors' before Cas gives him a look that Dean _really_ wishes was under different circumstances. It practically screams 'get in the bed' and he also really wishes that Cas hadn't just looked at him like that right before they're supposed to sleep within reach of each other.

Surprisingly, Dean doesn't need any help getting from the table up into the nest. He may not be in the best shape he could be in, but he's still decently fit. For his line of work, he has to be. The hoist and lift would've been easier if he wasn't completely aware of everyone's eyes on him while he did it – or that his shirt rode up to show a decent stretch of stomach.

His pillow and sleeping bag are already laid out on one side of the nest. The whole thing still kind of dips toward the center and that probably has to do with how there are still vines from the ceiling holding it up. Dean guesses those are in place to keep anyone from rolling out. For just having some mats and blankets between him and the vines, the nest doesn't feel half bad under his hands as he shimmies over and into his sleeping bag.

Cas stays down on the ground for a few minutes longer, talking Enochian with Hester and Rachel. The whole trampoline-net-nest bounces and shakes when he climbs up and Dean's heart is in his throat the entire time. Maybe he should have asked about the tensile strength of forest flora before he agreed to sleep up here. But if Cas trusts it, it must be okay. Right? Yeah, that's going to have to do for now.

He stays on his back long enough to see how Cas takes to his new bed. It's a big thing, changing the actual shape of your bed just to accommodate someone else, but Cas doesn't seem all that bothered by it. Well, he _does_ , but not in the way that Dean wishes he was. Out of the direct firelight, it's easier to tell that Cas _is_ blushing and he's doing that not-looking-at-him thing again. Which, Dean guesses, might be a good thing. At the same time it's making him _really_ paranoid.

A million questions are flying through his head and each one just makes him more confused than the last. Cas didn't blush like that the last time they slept this close and the only thing that Dean can think of that's changed since the last time is what happened this morning. He should really bury all of that and not think about it for the rest of forever, but it's really hard not to be reminded of what it's like to sit in Cas's lap and – _no_. No, brain, no. Bad brain. Those are _not_ things to be remembering when Cas is literally an arm's length away.

Cas stretches out on his stomach, his wings flaring up to the ceiling where all the trees bunch together before they settle against his back. It's really only then that Dean notices that there's at least one blanket bunched between them. In the shadow it’s hard to make out if there’s more. It's like a little wall, a clear line that Cas is drawing and the moment Dean notices it, something tight lodges itself in his throat. Cas knows exactly what Dean did when he went to the car and he's putting a fucking _barrier_ between them like he's hoping it'll keep Dean from having any wandering hands during the night.

Even though he kind of thinks that he deserves it, and it's actually a good idea, it still hurts. That tight feeling in his throat spreads to his chest and Dean rolls onto his side, putting his back to Cas. He's not sure why it hurts. He knew this is how it is with Cas. They're not – they're not whatever he maybe wants them to be and Cas just made it pretty clear that they never will be.

Sam and Jess were wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Peonies: bashfulness
> 
> **Due to Supernatural airing on Tuesdays and Seraphlimonade's new job, Angel's Wild is now moving to Sunday updates. See you guys on the 13th!**


	25. Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas's arms go tighter and he lifts his head enough so that his voice isn't muffled against Dean's shirt. “I've been asked to return to the clan with my status and rank restored.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

It’s too early for Castiel to decide if he likes the change to his nest. He is going to need some time to adjust to the difference from the basket it was before. Although it is certainly a novelty to get to sleep on his stomach up here. That was something he could never do with how his nest hung before.

As tired as he is from expending all that energy to reshape his nest, Castiel isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to sleep or not tonight. He probably will, but it always takes a while for sleep to come whenever Dean is this close. Worse yet, Dean is in his _nest_. His nest is going to smell like Dean and it’ll smell like him for days. Castiel has never had his nest smell like someone else before. He’s never shared his nest with anyone. It’s always been his own space, a private place.

When Dean had made the suggestion, Castiel hadn’t known how to react. Sharing his nest with Dean is certainly something he’s thought about since he realized his feelings for him. And more than once he’s fantasized about all the things they could do together in his nest. But he’d never thought – never dared to hope – that Dean would ever be in it. He’s never shown interest in Castiel’s nest before and now – now he’s here and only a few feet away.

Castiel can only hope that the blanket he left between them will be enough to keep himself from reaching for Dean during the night. The last time they slept this close had been the last night of Dean’s last visit, and they had woken with Castiel’s hand fisted in the back of his shirt. He doesn’t know when or why he had reached for Dean then, but he doesn’t want to risk it tonight. Not after everything that happened today. Castiel doesn’t trust himself.

Dean rolls onto his side, his back to him, shortly after Castiel is settled. Already today Castiel has shown too much of himself and what he wants. Too many times he nearly lost control and reached for him. If Castiel looks at him now, what would Dean see? If Dean could see the blush he can feel burning his cheeks, would he know this is the first time he’s shared his nest with someone? Dean has never judged him for his inexperience before, but would he do it now for something like this? Would he see that Castiel wants to move the blankets between them and press as close as possible against his side? Would Dean even allow that?

There are always so many questions when he thinks about Dean. Castiel has never been so confused or doubting of his own thoughts and actions before. And there’s no one to ask if this is normal. He’s always had to prove himself, to struggle to be the best warrior and always help the clan. He never had the time to relax, to be himself and create relationships like everyone else. Castiel has no experiences to draw from for this situation.

He digs his fingers into one of the blankets he’s laying on, resting his chin on his forearms. At least Hester and Rachel are quiet. There are no murmured voices and it’s a blessing that they didn’t ask why Dean was spending the night in his nest. Castiel isn’t sure if they bought his half-truth about what happened this morning with the painting of his markings, but he is certain that they both listened while he and Dean had been talking before they were allowed in. It is their duty as warriors in the presence of someone with the potential of being a traitor to the clan – though Castiel would never betray them, no matter what they’ve done to him.

At least both Hester and Rachel had been just as distracted as Castiel was when Dean had climbed up into the nest, his shirt riding up to bare his stomach. They had given him an appreciative look and Castiel had struggled to keep from reacting. He’s not sure if he managed to keep the blush from his skin, but at least his wings didn’t move and no flowers had appeared. When in front of other Hamiaah, Castiel is very good at keeping his powers under control. He’s always tense and on guard with them – but with Dean he can relax and not have to worry about having perfect control over himself.

When did he start preferring the company of a Human to other Hamiaah?

Castiel shifts onto his side slowly, shuffling his wings against his back. Dean still has his back to him, his sleeping bag pulled over his hunched shoulders. His breathing is uneven, like Castiel has only ever heard it when he was sick or angry. He knows that Dean isn’t sick now, but what could he be angry about? When he had said goodnight to Hester and Rachel, he had been just fine.

It’s then that Castiel realizes Dean hasn’t said goodnight to _him_ yet. He can’t remember an instance where he hasn’t when the opportunity is available to him. Maybe Dean is just waiting for him to say it? Though… why would he wait for him to say it first? If he was waiting for him, the time would have long passed by now. Saying it this late after settling in the nest would disturb Hester and Rachel.

Instead, Castiel reaches over the blankets he placed between them. They’re there to keep him from getting close to Dean while he’s sleeping. As long as he’s conscious, Castiel is sure that he can control himself from doing anything improper. When tip of his index finger touches the back of Dean’s neck, Dean’s breathing stops entirely and he twitches. It’s proof that he’s still awake, but he doesn’t turn over to look at Castiel and he doesn’t move until his breathing starts again at a controlled pace.

Slowly, Castiel traces capital letters into Dean’s skin. He uses the collar of his shirt as his base and writes out ‘goodnight’. After he’s done and his hand is tucked against his chest again, Castiel waits to see what Dean is going to do. With every minute that passes by, the uneasy flutter behind his ribs magnifies. Was Dean not able to follow the letters? Castiel thought they were clear and he didn’t move quickly while he wrote them out. Should he do it again? What kind of answer is he even expecting?

He certainly isn’t expecting Dean’s shoulders to hunch more, or for him to pull the blanket up higher and cover his neck. Castiel’s feathers rustle against one another, wings flexing nervously. Something is wrong. Dean is upset about something and Castiel doesn’t know what. He quickly analyzes everything that happened between Dean climbing into the nest and when Castiel joined him. Nothing stands out as anything that would make him angry and that’s just all the more confusing.

Castiel reaches out again and presses his finger to Dean’s back. It might be harder to understand the letter he draws through the thick fabric of the sleeping bag, so he compensates by drawing the letters extra large and exaggerating their shape. He spells out ‘sorry’ without knowing what he’s apologizing for, but hoping that it will make Dean feel better. Maybe in the morning, once the others have left, he’ll be able to ask Dean why he’s upset.

Dean turns over to face him before Castiel has even pulled his hand back. The starlight through the window and the glow of the fire below them is all that Castiel has to see Dean’s face by. It’s more than enough and he’s a little taken aback by how closed off Dean looks right now. He’s always been open and expressive with Castiel – even when Dean considered him an enemy – and now he looks… like nothing. There’s nothing behind his eyes and no smile on his lips. He doesn’t look angry, or sad, or happy.

“What are you –” The words are whispered but still too loud and Castiel shushes Dean with a finger against his lips before he realizes what he’s doing. At least that gets him a reaction and Dean’s eyes widen with surprise.

Castiel sits up, gesturing for Dean to do the same. They end up sitting facing each other, their legs crossed and knees touching over the line of blankets between them. He leans forward and Dean hesitates before he copies him, stopping when they’re almost nose to nose. It’s foolish to get so close to Dean in the dark, let alone to cover them both with his wings in a cave of feathers, but it’s the only way he knows for them to be able to talk in a whisper without disturbing Hester and Rachel. His wings should be enough to muffle any sounds and if they do manage to hear them, the words should be too muffled to understand.

“Please speak as quietly as possible.” He demonstrates, letting the words out on a breath. His wings are curved over their heads to overlap against Dean’s back and Castiel can feel a tremor run through him. “I don’t want to disturb the others.”

“Okay.” Dean whispers and his voice is flat, just as closed to Castiel as his expression was. Under the cover of Castiel’s wings, it’s almost impossible to see him, but Dean’s nose brushes his when he nods. “What were you saying ‘sorry’ for?”

Castiel fists his hands in the blankets and bites his lip before speaking. At first he thought that they would have to wait for the morning before they would have this conversation, but now he doesn’t want to wait. It doesn’t matter how tired or drained he is – there’s no way that he’ll be able to sleep with this worry gnawing at him.

“You’re upset.” He ventures slowly, surprised when Dean cuts him off immediately.

“I’m not.”

“You _are_.” The speed at which he answered is proof enough. “I don’t know why or what did it, but I know you well enough to read the signs, Dean. I didn’t want you to go to sleep unhappy, so I apologized.”

Emotion creeps back into Dean’s voice in confused and frustrated tones. “You’re apologizing for something that you don’t even know if it was your fault or not?”

“I can only conclude that it’s something I did or something related to me.” He shrugs, well aware that Dean might not be able to see the movement. “You were fine when you came up here but you weren’t after I joined you. What did I do?”

Dean sighs and the hot wash of air over Castiel’s mouth, tinted by the scent of the paste he brushes his teeth with, makes him want to lift his chin forward and seek out Dean’s lips in the dark. His hands start to shake with how hard he grips the blankets, trying to focus away that thought.

“You didn’t do anything, Cas.” His voice is pitched too soft, almost _sad_ and Castiel nearly pulls his wings away to see if Dean’s face will match his words. “It’s nothing. Just go back to sleep on your side of the nest now.”

Usually Castiel isn’t very good at reading into people’s words, or even into their body language. He can’t see Dean now, so he doesn’t know what his expression or the line of his shoulders is saying. But he can hear Dean’s voice and his words and it’s what he has months’ worth of experience deciphering the things Dean doesn’t say during their conversations on the phone. He’s learned that even when Dean lets his mouth run away with him, his words always say more than he means. Even though Castiel doesn’t always understand what it is he doesn’t say, he knows there’s something there.

He has a sneaking suspicion that he knows what is bothering Dean right now. Thought if he’s correct, he doesn’t understand _why_ it would be upsetting him.

“Are you –” He starts, stopping when Dean sits back and pushes at his wings.

No. He refuses to let Dean push him away right now. Something is wrong and he _will_ find out what it is. Castiel reaches out and grabs blindly in the small, dark space under his wings. One hand closes around Dean’s arm and the other gets a handful of his shirt. Something hard digs into his palm and Castiel thinks he must have also grabbed the pendant Dean wears.

Dean stops and his breathing skips and stutters. He doesn’t fight off Castiel’s hands and he takes that as a good sign. Just in case, Castiel tightens his wings, almost as an encouragement for Dean to lean forward again. Castiel doesn’t let go until he can feel Dean’s breath on his face again, but he does keep his hands in his lap instead of burying them in the blankets again.

“Are you upset that I divided the halves of the nest with extra blankets?” It’s not exactly what he did, but Dean doesn’t need to know the details.

It’s through his feathers and wings again that Castiel notices how Dean goes tense. Dean huffs quietly and he does sit back slightly. “You didn’t have to – It’s not like I’m going to _try_ anything. I’m not that much of an asshole. Is it coz’ of this morning? Because that was just – I didn’t mean – _fuck_.” His shoulders slouch under his wings and Castiel feels his temple brush his cheek. “Can you let me out from under here now so I can hide under my sleeping bag?”

Castiel frowns into the dark. Did Dean think his precaution for himself was a slight against him? That couldn’t be more wrong. He hadn’t even considered the idea that Dean would try anything. Dean had been recovering from a bad sickness the one time that he pulled Castiel closer during the night. Now that he’s healthy, Castiel would never expect him to do that again, even now that he is fully aware that Dean is sexually attracted to him.

Even so, Castiel can’t just tell him that the blankets were placed that way to keep _him_ from reaching for Dean during the night. He lifts his hand until his fingers brush Dean’s cheek. “I placed the blankets like that to separate our spaces, Dean. Like how the space between the edge of the othil and the edge of the mats mark the difference in our beds when I sleep on the ground beside you. It wasn’t meant as a slight towards you.”

Lying to Dean leaves him feeling uncomfortable and it makes his feathers itch, but it’s easiest to do while they’re in the dark under his wings. He lets his hand run through Dean’s hair once before he drops it back to his lap. If he touches Dean anymore with this hands, he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Oh.” Dean sits back slowly and he makes a huff of noise that almost sounds like a laugh. “I kind of feel like an idiot now.”

“Don’t be. Is dividing the space on a bed unusual? I’ve never shared my nest with anyone before.”

He isn’t expecting Dean to start laughing. But that eases all of Castiel’s worries regarding him. He still has the news Uriel delivered to think about, and he doesn’t like that he lied to Dean – but that was to protect them both from being hurt or uncomfortable. It was necessary and it’s just one more thing he’s going to have to try and forget.

When Dean’s laughs quiet down, Castiel’s wings tuck against his back again. Dean is smiling and there’s warmth back behind his eyes. It soothes Castiel’s nerves and he’s certain he’ll be able to sleep comfortably now. But Dean doesn’t move to lie back down. Instead, he pulls apart the blankets bunched between them, shoving them out of the way and dropping one over Castiel’s lap. It’s a little unnerving to lie down again without the blankets between them, unsure of whether or not he’ll keep his hands to himself during the night.

They face each other with only a few feet of distance between them and the sound of the crickets in the air. Castiel doesn’t find it awkward that neither of them closes their eyes, blinking at each other in the dark. He’s not sure if Dean can see him properly, but Castiel is well aware of how his gaze keeps flicking up behind him.

“Don’t you guys have pillows?”

The whisper is still quiet, but it sounds loud and Castiel hushes him for it. He doesn’t have pillows here. They’re useless considering the amount of blankets and mats that he has, although it wouldn’t be hard to make one himself. He just hasn’t felt the need for one. Dean licks his lips and turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling instead of saying anything more. Castiel’s eyes start to feel heavy and he’s just closing them when Dean speaks again.

“Cas?”

He hums his acknowledgement, not bothering to open his eyes.

Dean’s hesitation is clear in his words as he asks them. “If I asked you to move closer, would you?”

That gets Castiel to open his eyes. Dean is still staring at the roof and the fingers of one hand are fiddling with the sleeping bag over his chest. He doesn't explain why or give some kind of different meaning. Dean just waits. He stares at the ceiling and he waits, moving only when Castiel carefully slides over the space between them. It's like the night when he was sick, only instead of being demanding and pulling him in, Dean _asked_ him.

Dean stretches his arm out to make room for Castiel against his side, curling it around his shoulders the moment he's within reach. The only comfortable place for Castiel to place his head is Dean's chest, just shy of his shoulder. If he closes his eyes and focuses on nothing else, he can hear Dean's heartbeat. Castiel's right arm is folded comfortably between him and Dean, his hand curved over his own hip. He doesn't know what to do with his other arm. The only comfortable place to put it would be on Dean's chest. But would that be too much? This already feels extremely intimate and he doesn't know what Dean means by it.

“Just get comfy, Cas.” Dean murmurs, arm tightening around his shoulder slightly.

Castiel hesitates once before he places his hand on Dean's chest too, fingers curling in his shirt. Without being asked, he curves his left wing over them both, primary feathers stretching out over the other side of the nest. Relaxing against Dean's side comes easily and Castiel catches himself nearly nuzzling his face into the soft fabric of Dean's shirt as he starts to doze off again.

“This is nice.” He mumbles around a yawn. “I like this.”

It's the last thing he says before he falls asleep.

x

This is simultaneous the best and worst thing that Dean has ever done on impulse. Cas started snoring softly a half hour ago and Dean is still left staring at the ceiling. He's got an Angel against his side and two more laying on the floor below and he just realized that he could have suggested to Cas that he let Hester and Rachel take the nest while they slept on the floor. But if he'd done that, he probably wouldn't be cuddling with Cas right now and Cas wouldn't have said that this is _nice_ and that he _likes_ it.

What the hell was he thinking asking for this? Especially after how he'd almost had some kind of breakdown – one that was actually noticeable enough that Cas picked up on it. How he did that, Dean hasn't got a clue. But the blankets were to separate their spaces, not ward off Dean's wandering hands and that's pretty damn relieving. And that kind of set off a green light in his head that wandering hands weren't high on Cas's list of worries – which meant maybe they were okay?

The only way to make sure of that was to ask him to cuddle. If Cas had said 'no', then Dean would've backed off and tried to figure out some way of making sure he didn't grab for him in the night. If Cas would have asked 'why', the only explanation he had at the ready was something about being in a cuddly mood. Granted, he's almost always in a cuddling mood whenever there's someone in the same bed as him. Dean likes the physical intimacy, even if nothing sexual is going on. If given the choice, he will almost always pick sharing a bed than sleeping alone (depending on the person).

But asking Cas for this? It's like he's trying to sabotage himself or something. He's supposed to be getting over Cas, not asking him for snuggle time. And what the hell is he supposed to think about Cas not even fighting it? He'd tucked right up beside him and the only thing that seemed to throw him off was knowing what to do with his hands. Cas didn't object to the pseudo-cuddling they do during reading time, so maybe this is the same kind of thing for him?

Or maybe Jess and Sam were right and Cas _does_ want more with him. Maybe he just needs to suck it up and say some words and find out if Cas would be cool with more. Maybe it's okay for him to want that. And maybe he should stop thinking and get some damn sleep so he'll be rested enough in the morning to talk to Cas about all that once the other Angels leave.

Because this right here – Cas snuffling against his chest and breathing steady against his side – this sends his hope through the roof. And he's not sure if he could take another day of this weird tension between them. Sometimes he can tell that it's of a sexual nature, and sometimes it's something he can barely grasp. Either way, he's going to ask. He'll do it. Definitely.

He just hopes to hell that he'll still have the nerve to do it in the morning.

It takes him longer to fall asleep. Turns out the hardest part about falling asleep isn't because he's got Cas against his side with a different blanket covering his legs. It's the damn 'window'. It's like one whole wall is missing and even though Dean's feet are pointed toward it, he still feels pretty exposed. The stars are nice to look at, but the breeze is a little cold and it takes some getting used to.

By the time he wakes up in the nest alone, he doesn't even notice it. He yawns and stretches, blinking at the space in the nest where Cas should have been. Guess he woke up earlier. Dean doesn't have a clue what time it is. His watch is with the rest of his stuff in the back of the cave. In hindsight, he probably should have brought it up here with him. From where he's laying, it's hard to tell if the sky is overcast with the chance of rain, or if it's just a cloudy day but the sun hasn't really risen over the mountains yet.

Either way, there are voices down below and they're all chattering away in Enochian. He hears Hester, Rachel, and Cas's voices coming from closer to the door. The deep voice that's coming up through the window instead of directly below has gotta be Uriel. Seems like the prick is keeping true to word and he's not setting foot in the house because Dean's gone and stunk up the place with his Human stink. If it'll keep out pretentious dicks like him, Dean'll rub up against the trees if he has to.

Getting down from the nest is a lot harder than getting up was. Dean crawls to the edge and flips around, going over legs first before he drops down to the table. All the voices stop and Dean notices that they're all grouped around the door. There are dishes stacked on one side of the table and a pot of porridge resting beside the fire.

“Morning.” Dean waves, hopping down from the table and leaning back against it. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“It's nothing to worry about, Dean. Good morning.” Cas eye-smiles at him and it's another little weight off Dean's shoulders that Cas actually meets his eyes. If he's not avoiding looking at him, maybe he doesn't regret cuddling and maybe this is all going to work out. Which is all the more reason for the other Angels to get the fuck out before Dean's nerves pack up and head for Mexico.

“Everyone sleep okay?” He tilts his head to Hester and Rachel. They're standing half in the door, holding back the vines and hanging moss with their wings.

Hester nods and steps outside completely, but Rachel is doing that staring thing she'd been doing last night, like she's trying to see through him. “Yes, thank you. We're just preparing to leave, actually.” She tilts her head a little and Dean is really started to get the creeps from the look she's giving him. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too. Fly safe.” He waves again and switches hands when he notices she's staring at the black ends of his fingers. Jesus, he's going to be self conscious about those until it fades.

She ducks out too and then it's just him and Cas for all of a minute. “I'll be right back. Help yourself to the porridge or make something else if you want it.”

What he wants is take a pee and have the conversation that's already making his heart beat a mile a minute and he's barely said more than a few words to Cas so far this morning. Talking about his feelings is really not one of his strong suits and Dean is maybe more than a little paranoid that he's going to fuck up something at some point. What if Cas actually doesn't want this? There are plenty of friends who just like to cuddle, right? What if Cas only liked that last night because it's the first physical intimacy he's had in forever?

Shit. He needs some courage – liquid would be preferable, but he still hasn't brought any alcohol out here and he doesn't really have the plans to. Not unless this talk with Cas actually works out and then he doesn't have to worry about his inhibitions being lowered and kissing Cas stupid while he's drunk off his ass.

There is no damn way he's going to be able to stomach food until he's had the conversation. Depending on the results of that, he might not ever want to eat again. Instead, Dean goes to the door and pushes the vines out of the way. Cas is standing ramrod straight and his wings are unnaturally still. Uriel pauses in whatever he's saying and glances at Dean. He doesn't like the look he gets, but he still steps outside and leans back against the tree, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants while he waits for them to go.

Apparently Uriel doesn't like talking while he's there because after two more words, he turns around. Hester and Rachel say their goodbyes and then one after another they're sprinting across the clearing. Dean can't help watching. If he didn't like heights, he'd be pretty damn jealous as they spread their wings and beat them to get up into the trees. They disappear into the foliage and a minute later they're above the trees. Cas doesn't move while they circle before they head west.

The moment they're out of sight, everything about Cas relaxes. He even sighs loud enough for Dean to hear it and it's not a sound that Dean likes hearing. Not coming from Cas. Dean crosses the little distance between them and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

Cas turns to him and he doesn't look happy. He looks sad and mad all at the same time.

“Dude, you look like you need a hug.”

That's all it takes for Cas to lean forward. His forehead drops to Dean's shoulder and his arms come up around his waist to dig his fingers into the back of his shirt, wings folding around him. Dean hugs him back tightly and puts everything else on the back burner. If there's any excuse for putting off having that conversation, it's Cas being upset about dick Angels. He doesn't care that he's getting a chin full of bear fur from Cas's wrap, or that they're practically flush together.

“What's wrong, Cas? What were they here for?”

Cas's arms go tighter and he lifts his head enough so that his voice isn't muffled against Dean's shirt. “I've been asked to return to the clan with my status and rank restored.”

It's like ice down Dean's back and all plans for talking about this maybe-a-thing between them goes out the proverbial window. If Cas goes back to the clan, what are the chances that Dean's ever going to get to visit him again? Slim to none, likely. There's no point in figuring out if there's the chance for something more between them if this is going to be the last time they'll ever see each other. And as shitty as the news is for him, shouldn't this be good for Cas? Why isn't he happy that he gets to go back and be with his people?

“Is that... bad?” He asks quietly and Cas muffles a small laugh against his shoulder.

“I don't know.” Cas steps away slowly, hands dragging down Dean's back before they drop away. “I think for you to fully understand, you need to know what happened concerning my disgrace.”

Dean's been dying to know all about that since he found out that Cas is basically an exile. He's dropped hints here and there that were quasi-questions, but Cas always ignored them or changed the subject. Is he actually offering to tell him about it now, or is he just explaining why Dean's going to get left in the dark again?

“Use the sand pit and get yourself some breakfast.” Cas gestures back at the house. “I'll tell you while you eat.”

He's never peed so fast in his life. One hand sanitizing and a prepared bowl of porridge later, Dean is ready and waiting at the table. Cas is sitting across from him and staring down at a mug of tea. There's instant coffee for Dean but he's ignoring that and pretty much everything else in front of him to listen to Cas talk about what happened a little over fifty years ago.

Cas had been the commander of his own garrison back then. He'd worked hard to get that position, sacrificing his personal life for it. Anyone he considered a friend was a member of one of the divisions that he commanded. He didn't really have time for anything else. One of the missions that he'd been on had taken him to the west coast and up north toward what Dean thinks might be Alaska. Cas and the warriors under his command were going after a settlement of Demons who were, reportedly, using their powers to commit crimes against Humans and Angels alike.

Dean listens attentively while Cas describes the battle and how he'd made a tactical decision – one he stresses that many others have made in different engagements before him. For some people, the decision turned out okay. For others, not so much. According to Cas, he falls under the latter. It would have worked out if the Demons hadn't retaliated the way that they did. The combination of the Demons powers and the Angels during the attack had disastrous results.

“I'm not sure how familiar you are with the history of disasters, but it should be in Human records.” Cas looks up from his cup and he looks so upset about it – fifty years after the fact – that Dean wants to hug him again. “The Earthquake that resulted from the battle shook the coast for thousands of miles to the south. If I knew how you divided your territories, I would name it.”

He looks away and the grip he's got on his mug goes white-knuckled. “When we fight the Hamiamma, we try so hard to keep Humans out of it. We consider it shameful if we manage to lose a Human life in the process. One of our contacts told us the death tally not long before I decided to leave the clan. My decision took one hundred and thirty one Human lives. That doesn't include the Hamiaah that I lost in the battle, or any animal lives.” When Cas looks back at him, his face has gone all hard, like he's steeling himself for something worse. “That is my disgrace, Dean.”

“How the hell were you supposed to know how they were going to fight back? It's the Demons fault that the Earthquake happened, isn't it?” Dean shoves his untouched bowl away. Any appetite he had is long gone. “You said you made the same kind of decision that others have made. Other Angels made that decision and it didn't turn out so good for them either, right? Were they picked on like you were?”

Cas's wings curve up around his shoulders. “No.”

“That's fucking bullshit.” Dean slams his hand down on the table and Cas glances down at it for a moment. “Why the hell were you outcast for it then? That doesn't make any _sense_.”

“I was already discriminated against because of my wings prior to that.” Cas mumbles and Dean damn near throws his bowl across the room. “As long as I had my rank and my status, they couldn't treat me as badly as they do now. Once I was stripped of that, if they bothered to acknowledge my existence they were hostile toward me – as if I was a plague to them. I moved here to escape it.”

Dean's hands are trembling for how hard he's got them fisted against the table top. He has to force his voice to stay even when he talks. “And now they want you _back_?”

It doesn't take Cas long to explain why. He even tells Dean about the Archangel who runs their clan – an Angel called Raphael. Cas tells him about how he's not known for being a nice and the fact that he's 'forgiven' Cas for his disgrace is pretty damn suspicious. The more Dean hears about him, the less he likes him. By the time Cas is done talking, Dean only has one question – and it's one with an answer that he's not sure he wants to hear.

“Are you going back?”

Cas's shoulders slump again and even his wings droop. He looks so lost that Dean gets up and goes around the table to hug him again. For a second, Cas hesitates, but then he turns on the stump-stool. His arms wrap around Dean's waist and he presses his face into his stomach. It actually kind of tickles, but Dean ignores it to hug him back. Cas even curls his wings forward and around him again. They've never been this touchy-feely before and Dean isn't sure if it's because of whatever might be between them or if it's because Cas just really needs comfort right now.

It takes Cas another few minutes before he turns his head so it's only his cheek against Dean's belly. “I don't know what to do. Part of me doesn't ever want to go back except for during the clan gatherings and another part of me is really happy that they're willing to accept me again. Dean, what should I do?”

He makes a noise that could be a laugh and looks up at the tapestry hanging on the wall with the clan symbol on it. Now that he knows what the symbol means, and he knows what they've done to Cas, he's not sure if he likes it anymore.

“I dunno, Cas.” It's not the answer Cas wants to hear, but it's the only one he's got. “There's gotta be pros and cons for both, right? If you don't go back, will they be mad enough at you to ban you from the clan gatherings too? If you _do_ go back, are you going to move out of here and live there?”

Cas shrugs under Dean's hands. “I don't know.”

Dean doesn't want to play the devil's advocate for the clan. He wants to be selfish and keep Cas here so he can come and see him whenever he wants. But he can't do that. He'd hate himself and there's the chance Cas would hate him for it too. He wants Cas to be happy and if that means going back to his clan to live with them, then that's whats going to happen and he's just going to have to suck it up and lose his best friend. Cas's happiness comes first – even if that means he's going to be happy without Dean.

“Do whatever you think is best, Cas. Don't make your decision on whatever is best for the clan. Think about yourself first and pick what's going to make you happy, okay? I'll be behind you no matter what.”

Cas makes a little humming noise, like he's thinking about it. They stay like that for another few minutes before Dean's stomach grumbles loud enough that Cas pulls away and points him back to the other side of the table to eat his cold porridge. Even if his stomach is hungry, Dean doesn't have an appetite. How the hell is he supposed to eat when there's every chance that after this week he might never see Cas again? He eats as much as he can while Cas busies himself with cleaning up the mats left out for Hester and Rachel, even bringing all of Dean's stuff out of the cave.

After breakfast is cleaned up, Dean pulls out his notebook and gives it to Cas. “Write out a list of pros and cons in here. Take as long as you need to think about it, okay? Uriel said you've got two months at the most. I'm going to go take a bath at the lake.”

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas takes the notebook, a pen stuck in the spiral binder. “If you need me –”

“Just call and the forest will let you know?” He grins over his shoulder while he's getting a towel and change of clothes out of his bag. “Yeah, Cas, I know.”

He leaves Cas sitting at the table with the notebook, staring at the blank pages. Dean thinks about calling Sam on his way to the lake, but Sam doesn't believe Cas is an Angel. If Dean tells him about Cas and all this shit now, would he believe him or just call him a liar again? Would Jess tell him to stop finding excuses and just tell Cas how he feels? If he tells him that, would it have any kind of impact on Cas's decision? What if it only chases him back to the clan because it's not something that he wants?

Christ, what the hell is he supposed to do?

The water is cold at the lake and Dean takes waste time with his bath. He's in and out of the water as fast as possible, dressed and heading back to Cas's within fifteen minutes of getting there. By the time he gets back to the house, Cas is gone. The notebook is open on the table and open on a page with a note for him.

                _Dean, I needed to clear my head and think. I'm on my rounds of the area and I might stop at Juniper for a while. I'll be back before supper._

According to his watch, it's just after noon. There's no a whole lot for him to do right now. He could pull out his laptop, read a book, figure out what to make for supper, call Sam and whine about his complicated love life, or he could take a nap. All of them sound equally appealing. Right now, he doesn't really want to do anything except drink and forget his problems. But he can't even do that. Maybe he could go down to the impala and give her a tune up with the tools in the trunk. Or work on improving his weapons for his new hunting life style. Hell, he could try replacing the notes that he burned last night, or study the ones that he's got.

After taking out some ground beef for the hamburgers he wants to make tonight and setting that out to thaw on the counter, he sits down at the table to start reading over his notes. He's surprised to find that the few pages before the note Cas left him are already filled in weird symbols that he's pretty sure is supposed to be Enochian. Either Cas is more comfortable writing in his native language, or he just really didn't want Dean to know what he was writing. None of it makes any sense to him and Dean skips those pages to go to his notes.

He's studied everything in the book, formed up the hamburger patties and tinkered with his weapons by the time Cas comes back. Cas doesn't look less troubled and he's quieter than Dean is used to from him. He perks up during supper – apparently Dean's burgers are _really_ great and Cas might be a little in love with them. It's the first time they've had no leftovers, with the majority of what Dean made going to Cas's stomach.

Cas is sort of back to normal by the time dinner is done. But when they sit down on the couch together with their books, he doesn't even open it. He ends up leaning against Dean, his head on his shoulder. His wings are bunched up funny behind him and it can't be comfortable, but he's not complaining. Dean tries to at least read some of his book, but he can't concentrate when he knows something is bugging Cas and there's nothing he can really do to help him.

He manages to flip through a half dozen pages without actually reading anything. Dean's making his own mental list of pros and cons about whether or not it's a good idea to have that conversation with Cas. There's not a whole lot of progress in that department.

“Dean?” Cas mumbles after another seven not-really-read pages.

“Yeah?” Dean doesn't bother moving his bookmark from the page he'd started on. He'll just reread everything later when he can actually focus on it.

There's a moment where Cas holds his breath before he lets it out in a whoosh, but whispers the words. “I think I'm going to go back to the clan.”


	26. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s quiet for all of five seconds before Cas speaks in a whisper, like if he talks too loud something is going to break. “Will you still visit?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

How many words was that? Ten? A dozen? More? Less? Dean doesn’t know but how the hell could a couple handfuls of words make his insides go from core temperature to arctic wasteland? Cas wants to go back to the clan. He wants to leave here and go back to a place where Dean is pretty damn sure he’s never going to be able to see him again. And he sure as hell doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to keep to just phone calls – if Cas will even be able to still make those.

“Dean?” Cas lifts his head from his shoulder and Dean is vaguely aware that he’s looking at him.

He makes a little noise kind of like a hum to show that he’s listening even though he’s really not. He’s shut down. Gone cold on the inside, hard on the outside. There’s no way in hell he can tell Cas anything now. Not when he’s basically made up his mind that he’s going to go back to the clan. If he did say anything, if Cas does want more with him, all he’d be doing is making it more complicated for Cas and he can’t do that to him. He can’t be that selfish and dangle a relationship – something Cas has never had before – in front of him and force him to choose between helping protect who-even-knows-how-many Angels or stay with him when they both know that he can’t stay here all day, every day.

Stupid. Dean was so fucking stupid to even consider talking to Cas about how he feels. There are so many reasons that he shouldn’t and he just – _fuck_. He can’t do it. _This_ is why he’s tried to keep from getting close like this to anyone before. He’s never really stayed in one place long enough for it and his experience with Cassie and long distance relationships haven’t exactly left him with the overpowering urge to go through all that again.

Christ on a cracker, why the hell did he let himself get this deep into Cas? There’s nothing but heartache down this road and he should have bailed when he still had the chance. This would be easier if he could bring himself to regret getting to know Cas and kinda falling head over heels for him. But he can’t, he really, _really_ can’t.

“You don’t agree with this decision?” Cas asks, pulling his hand back before touching Dean’s shoulder when he glances at him.

“It’s your decision to make, Cas. I’ve got no say on it.” He closes his book and leans over to put it on his bag before slumping back against the couch and looking up at the ceiling instead of looking at Cas. “I only know what you’ve told me about the situation with your clan.”

“But I have told you everything.” He murmurs and Dean can see from the corner of his eye that his wings start curving over his shoulders. “I keep very little from you now, Dean. What you don’t know is what you haven’t asked about yet.”

Oh. That – that’s something he didn’t know. He knew there were questions he wasn’t allowed to ask before, but does that mean he can ask about them now? Is he allowed to ask about Cas’s powers and all the things he can do with them? There’s more he wanted to ask – but when he’s got Cas looking down at his hands and yellow daffy-ducks – no wait, those are called _daffodils_ – are spreading out across the floor, mixed with a white flower that Dean doesn’t recognize but the petals look really soft and he’s kind of tempted to touch them.

It’s a bit of a non sequitur, but he still points at the white flowers. “What are those ones called?”

Cas looks up and Dean is pretty damn sure there’s red in his cheeks when he looks at them. “These are ‘gardenia’.” He leans forward to touch them, fingertips tracing the petals and for the first time in his life Dean finds himself jealous of a _flower_. “Please don’t try to distract from the topic, Dean. I want to hear what you think of my decision.”

Dean sighs, running a hand over his face and through his hair. “I dunno what to think about it. After all the shit they’ve put you through, why would you want to go back?”

“They’re my people. If they need my help, I can’t abandon them. Not with a war coming that would affect Hamiaah _and_ Humans.” Cas keeps talking to the flowers instead of him. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t help simply because they –”

“They were assholes, Cas. The moment they had the chance, those butt-munchers turned you out because of the colour of your wings.” Dean doesn’t think about it when he reaches out to touch the glossy black feathers. He’ll maintain until his dying day that Cas’s wings are the best he’s ever seen.

Cas’s wing twitches away from his fingers for a moment before it pushes back against his hand. The tense set of Cas’s shoulders doesn’t relax any, but he does spread and drop his wing until it’s practically draped over Dean’s lap, giving him plenty of room to run his fingers through it. They’re going to need an oiling soon and maybe he’ll offer to do it for Cas tomorrow.

“I understand loyalty. Trust me, Cas. I do. And I understand being lonely.” Dean continues, keeping his eyes on Cas’s wing instead of looking at him. “You’re getting your status and your rank back and they won’t be allowed to treat you like crap anymore. The friends you had before that couldn’t talk to you because they would’ve gotten shit for it are going to be able to talk to you again. It could be like nothing ever happened and you’ll be happy, or it’ll be nothing like you remember it and you’ll be miserable. You don’t really have any way of knowing unless you go back.”

There’s a lull in the conversation after that. Cas doesn’t say anything, continuing to play with the flowers until they wilt and return to the ground. By then, the sky makes good on the threat it’s been making all day and it starts raining. They both get up to roll the covers down over the window by the kitchen and the entrance. While Dean gets the ones within reach from the ground, Cas climbs up into the nest and makes like he’s a goddamn tightrope walker, standing on vines and walking between them to roll down the waterproofed cover for the opening above the door.

“It’s not going to storm tonight, is it?” Dean asks, peeking out at the clearing before he finishes buttoning down the cover. He’s not bothered when it’s just the rain, but there’s a tight, uneasy twist behind his ribs. There’s no weather report out here and he’s got no idea what might happen.

Cas drops down from the nest through a space just big enough for him and his wings. Dean steps out of the way to let him take a look outside. After a moment where Dean is pretty sure Cas actually _sniffs_ at the rain, he ties up the last of the cover and turns around.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Dean. The rain will be finished before the morning.” Cas’s small smile is enough to soothe his nerves.

Now’s as good a time as any to get ready for bed. They both busy themselves with their respective toothbrushes – Cas still using his twig even though Dean’s offered more than once to bring him his own toothpaste and toothbrush. Dean changes into the same pajamas he wore last night – flannel pants and a sleeveless-tee – and goes to pull back his sleeping bag, stopping when he realizes all his bed stuff is still up in the nest.

The thing is, he doesn’t know if they’re still going to talk tonight or not. Cas is kind of banking the fire – making sure that it’ll burn through the night but not be huge while they’re trying to get to sleep. This quiet between them right now is really unnerving. It’s not exactly uncomfortable, but there’s more to talk about and neither one of them is saying it.

By the time he works up the nerve to ask Cas to toss down his stuff, Cas is already climbing up onto the table to get up into the nest. He opens his mouth to say something, but Cas beats him to the punch – starting with those pink peonies growing around the base of the table and those white three-petal-skirt hanging flowers he’s seen before start growing on the stump-stools.

“If you want to –” Cas stops and his wings flex against his back before he reaches up to grab the edge of the nest. “It’s starting to cool off at night and it’s warmer up here. And my nest is more comfortable than the othil. I’m not opposed to – if you want to –”

He’s going back to his clan. That means Dean should start distancing himself now so it won’t hurt as much later. It’s what he _should_ be doing, but apparently it’s not what’s happening. By the time his brain catches up with his body, Dean is already pulling himself up into the nest after Cas. He makes sure he’s too busy getting settled in his sleeping bag to pay attention to Cas untying and pulling off his wrap. Distraction. Dean needs one hell of a distraction before his brain jumps the train that likes to head straight into fantasy territory.

“Hey, is there an Enochian word for your nest?” Yeah, that’s a good distraction, and so is keeping his back to Cas so he doesn’t see him stretch out on his stomach in nothing but that loincloth thing.

“We call them virq - vi-reh-kwah. It’s a direct translation.”

“That’s cool.”

It sounds like Cas is covering up with a blanket or something so that’s good. Mission accomplished and all that. Dean tucks in on his right side. Usually he prefers sleeping on his side like this, but now it just feels like some kind of escape so he doesn’t have to look at Cas. If he wasn’t about to lose his best friend to a bunch of asshats who don’t appreciate him properly, he’d be fine on his other side. But looking at Cas kind of hurts right now.

There’s quiet for all of five seconds before Cas speaks in a whisper, like if he talks too loud something is going to break. “Will you still visit?”

“That’ll be kinda hard, won’t it?” He rolls over onto his back so he’s not speaking away from Cas. “I get the feeling that Uriel is gonna spread shit about me and you all through the clan long before you get there. And I’m fine with you, but I don’t know if I can be surrounded by Angels –”

“I didn’t mean at the clan. I meant _here_.”

“Oh.” Dean frowns at the ceiling before turning his head to look at Cas. He’s on his stomach, arms crossed under his chin and he’s staring straight ahead at the wall. “But you’re not going to be here.”

“I won’t be here while I’m doing my refresher training, but I will be coming back. This is my home now and even if the clan accepts me back, I don’t think I could stand to live with them.” Cas turns his head to rest his cheek on his arms instead, looking back at Dean. “It will take time for me to forgive them. They have been – what did you call them earlier…? Assbutts?"

He snorts a laugh and can’t help smiling back at the little smirk Cas has. “Assholes and butt-munchers, that’s what I said.”

“I like assbutt better. It suits them.”

“Yeah, it kinda does.”

Five minutes ago it was hard to look at Cas, let alone actually _smile_. Now he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to stop. He’s still going to get to see Cas and maybe they’ll still be able to talk on the phone while Cas is with the clan. That’s something they’re going to have to talk about and he’s going to save that question for the morning. The last thing he wants now is for Cas to give an answer that’ll pop his little happy balloon right now.

“We’ll talk more in the morning, Dean. Get some sleep now.”

Not for the first time Dean wonders if Cas can read minds. “Sounds like a plan. G’night, Cas.” He gives him another grin before turning back onto his right side. It’s just really a whole lot more comfortable and the only way he’d stay sleeping on his back is if Cas was going to be curled up against his side again. The chances of that happening again is probably one in a million and he doesn’t want to push his luck and ask if Cas wants to sleep closer again for the second night in a row. Two nights would be asking for too much, wouldn’t it? Probably, yeah.

It takes eighty-two sheep for Dean’s body to start feeling heavy and that pleasant fog of sleepiness to fill his head. He’s almost completely out when something brushes against the edge of his sleeping bag, settling heavily over top of him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Cas dropped a wing on him, but it does bring a lazy smile to his face.

“You still awake, Cas?” Dean mumbles, not even sure if the words come out sounding like they’re supposed to.

He gets a mumbled answer that definitely doesn’t make any sense and it might’ve not even been in English for all he knows. Decisions made when half asleep can either be really stupid or really awesome. In this case, reaching back and groping across the mess of blankets and mats that make up the nest until he finds Cas’s arm, this might blur the line between those.

Cas mumbles again, but he shuffles across the space between them on the first tug. With his blanket and Dean’s sleeping bag between them, Cas slots up against is back as close as he can get, wing staying curved over them both. It takes a little wiggling to get one of Cas’s arm under the pillow so it’s not awkwardly stuck between them, but the other one loops over Dean’s stomach like it belongs there. With Cas’s wing coming up to his shoulder, he doesn’t need to pull his sleeping bag up that high and he’s happy to leave it around his waist.

“Is this okay?”

Dean can actually feel the words being formed against the back of his neck as Cas’s tucks his nose – colder than expected – against it. Maybe moving over woke him up enough for him to be conscious. Either way, yeah, this is okay. It feels better than anything else right now. He’s too comfortable to form words right now to give an answer to Cas’s question. Looks like a physical answer is going to have to do before he drops off completely.

He’s pretty sure that’s a smile he feels on the back of his neck when he covers Cas’s arm with his own and squeezes his wrist. Dean doesn’t move his hand from there and Cas doesn’t ask him too – at least he doesn’t while Dean is still conscious. He’s asleep not long after that and he might even conk out with a smile of his own.

x

Castiel wakes up to the hair on the nape of Dean's neck tickling his nose. He's warm and breathing steadily and Castiel doesn't want to get up. He doesn't need to look outside or look at Dean's wristwatch to know that the sun has barely risen. If he closes his eyes and listens, he can still hear the sound of the rain. It's not as heavy as it was when it started last night, but it's still going – which means they won't be leaving the salman until it stops.

There are things that he wants to do – eggs to collect, the last of his garden to reap, and he needs to grow and harvest more materials for his mats. But none of that seems important right now. Castiel would rather stay here, curled against Dean's back and listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. His hand is slack around Castiel's left wrist, but his arm is still resting his. He'd like nothing more to continue sleeping next to Dean at the moment and that actually sounds like a very nice idea.

It doesn't take long for him to fall asleep again, warm and comfortable against Dean's back. He wakes up a few hours later when Dean stretches minutely, head turning to muffle a yawn into the pillow. It triggers a yawn of his own and Castiel tilts his head, pressing his forehead against the back of Dean's neck as he yawns. Dean hums and he shifts again, but he doesn't move his arm from over Castiel's.

“Are you awake, Dean?”

“I don't wanna be.” He mumbles, squeezing his wrist again. “It's still raining, isn't it?”

“And it's still early. You can go back to sleep if you want to.” Castiel moves slowly, extracting his arm out from underneath the pillow as he props himself up on his elbow to look down at Dean. “I can have breakfast ready for you when you wake up again.”

Dean groans again, rolling over under Castiel's arm to lay on his back and stretch again. “But if you get up, there goes half the fun in being lazy and staying in bed.” He yawns again and lifts his eyebrows suggestively. “We could always have brunch instead of breakfast if you stick around. You probably don't sleep enough anyways.”

“I sleep an appropriate amount.” He huffs, laying back down when Dean reaches up to put his arm around Castiel's shoulders and pull him against his chest. Castiel settles against his side like he did the other night, Dean's heartbeat thudding under his cheek. “But I could stand to sleep more right now.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest and it's a pleasing sound. Castiel closes his eyes and lets Dean's breathing and heartbeat lull him back to sleep. He's not sure if Dean sleeps again too, but when he wakes up again Dean is awake too and fine with rolling over onto his side to face Castiel. They stay close together, Castiel still tucked against Dean's chest, his arm still firmly locked around Dean's waist and his wing covering them both. Dean does fall asleep again, his breathing evening out into soft puffs against Castiel's forehead.

He doesn't feel particularly sleepy now and it gives him a chance to reflect on last night. Dean had perked up considerably after Castiel had asked if he would still visit. Perhaps he had been thinking that he wouldn't be able to visit anymore while Castiel is living with the clan, and of course he won't be able to. Castiel would never ask him to travel so far north and he knows that the clan wouldn't take kindly to him bringing a Human – one that isn't his mate – back with him. Especially since Raphael shares the same perception of Humans as Uriel does. It doesn't make life difficult for the Hamiaah with Human mates, but there is tension in the clan and Castiel doesn't need to live with them to know it's there.

It would be so nice to finally get to talk with his friends again. There's so much that he doesn't know about the current events in his own clan that he's very excited to get to talk with them again. Not once, while he had been considering whether or not he would return as he was asked to, did he think about leaving his home here permanently. If he did that, he wouldn't be able to see Dean anymore. As it stands, with his decision mostly made, it will be rather difficult for him to get to talk to Dean with the phone. He likely won't have much time alone and he doesn't want anyone listening in to his conversations. They're for him and Dean and no one else.

He'll have to talk about that with Dean when he wakes up again. Maybe he'll bring it up while they're eating. It will definitely come _after_ they're out of his nest. Castiel doesn't want to tarnish these moments with a discussion that has the potential of souring both their moods.

The only odd thing to Castiel about how they're laying right now is that he doesn't find it odd. The most they would touch before Dean left after his last visit was during their reading time and the hugs that Dean gave him. But after Hester and the others left yesterday, Dean has been very – Castiel can only think of 'affectionate' as the word to describe it. He's hugged him multiple times and he's the one who has initiated these close moments in the nest. The most that Castiel has taken is leaning his head on Dean's shoulder yesterday evening.

Is he only doing this to provide a physical comfort because the presence of the other Hamiaah had upset him or is there another reason? Castiel knows that Dean is physically attracted. That much is evident after the incident involving the painting of his markings. Does Dean consider sleeping tucked together like this to be nothing more than a hug or does it hold a different meaning to him? He is fairly certain that friends – at least no friends that he's ever heard of, Human or Hamiaah – sleep this close together.

A small hope blossoms in his chest and it scares him. He doesn't want to hope that Dean might return his affections only to have that feeling be crushed if Dean doesn't. It's a terrifying feeling and Castiel is glad he's never suffered it before. A part of him wants to ask, to bring it up and talk with Dean about any potential meaning sleeping like this has. Another part of him, the rational part, wants him to keep his mouth shut. What if Dean does return his feelings? He still has his hunting and his search for his father. He won't be able to come out here for more than a week every month – not to mention that Castiel is going to be returning to the clan soon for an indeterminate amount of time. With a war brewing, he can't afford to be distracted with a relationship while he's training.

By his estimate, when Dean wakes up again it's nearly midday. Dean yawns and stretches, pulling away from Castiel to roll onto his back and stretches his arms above his head, rolling his back off the nest until Castiel can actually hear his spine popping.

“The rain stopped a little while ago.” Castiel informs him, sitting up and stretching himself, wings arching up and out until his primaries brush the walls. It's not his full wingspan, but it's the best that he can manage in the space he has. “What would you like to eat?”

“Flapjacks and sausages.” Dean responds automatically, already crawling his way to the edge of the nest. “Wait, you call them flatcakes. Yeah, those and sausages and syrup. There should be a package of sausages in the cooler. I've gotta pee like a racehorse, I'll get that stuff started in a minute.”

Castiel puts his wrap on while Dean gets his things and goes outside. He leaves the covering over the opening for now. They need to dry before he'll consider rolling them up. For now he gets started on building the fire back up. He places the grill and a large pan over the fire, letting that heat up while he mixes the batter for the flatcakes. When Dean comes back, Castiel lets him take over in favour of relieving himself. The sky is clearing slowly, blue peeking through the clouds as the wind pulls them apart. Everything smells fresh and even though a fall chill is in the air, it's shaping up to be a beautiful day. They'll have to go for a walk together later.

Dean has flatcakes and sausages cooking in the pan together when Castiel returns. He sets the table with dishes, a jar of syrup, and a jug of water, staying out of the way when Dean shoos him away from the fire pit. Castiel sits at the table, cheek propped against his first while he watches Dean's back, muscles moving under his shirt as he uses a fork to transfer finished flatcakes to a plate. He leaves that on the table and takes Castiel's plate to put a few sausages on it, repeating the process with his own plate before he removes the grill and pan from over the fire, protecting his hands with a set of cloths.

“Bonne appetite.” Dean grins, gesturing at the flatcakes when he sits down.

Castiel raises an eyebrow at the use of the French, already pulling a few flatcakes onto his own plate. He wasn't aware that Dean know other languages. “Merci beaucoup, Dean.”

“Yeah, I don't actually speak French, Cas. It was just an expression.” He laughs and takes half the stack, spooning syrup over his food. “How many languages do you speak?”

“All of them.” He can't help his smile when Dean pauses in his eating to stare at him. “Well, maybe not _all_ of them. But certainly most of them. All languages are derived from Enochian, after all.”

Dean muffles a laugh around his mouthful of flatcakes. He has Castiel say various things in a multitude of languages until he's satisfied. His smiles come easy and there's warmth behind his eyes when he looks at him. It adds fuel to that growing hope in his chest and Castiel has to quickly control of his emotions or risk having more snowdrops sprouting around him like they did last night.

Castiel waits until they're finished the majority of the meal before he even considers bringing up any of the things he'd thought about this morning. He seizes the moment when Dean is in the process of refilling his cup. “I'm not going to be able to accurately predict how often I'll be able to come home during my training period until after I've returned to the clan.”

“I figured as much.” Dean shrugs, offering him the jug and a small smile. “Its fine, Cas. I'm cool with working around your schedule as long as I can still see you.”

He relaxes slightly, his wings shuffling against his back. “I'm also not sure how often we would be able to talk with the phone. I don't know how the clan will react to my having a phone. If they don't like it, I'll have to hide it and only make calls when I'm able to take some time to myself.”

“Oh.” That news causes Dean's smile to slip. “Well, that's okay. Just call me when you have the chance. You've got all my numbers and the only time I wouldn't answer is if I'm in the middle of a job. If that happens and you're calling my cell, then you can just leave a message. It'll suck not getting to talk to you so much, but it can't really be helped, can it? Not unless you decide not to go back.”

“I can't do that. It's –”

“I know, Cas. I'm not going to ask you to stay just so we can keep talking like we have been.” Dean glances down at his plate, poking around the last few bites of food. “I understand loyalty and duty, even to people who don't treat you that great – doesn't mean that I have to like it.”

Castiel hesitates before he stands up and goes around the edge of the table. He's not sure if the situation calls for it, but he has the urge to hug Dean and he wants to be the one to initiate it this time. Dean looks surprised, but he leans into his side without reservation and presses his cheek against Castiel’s stomach.

As soon as the first breath brushes against the skin of his belly, Castiel realizes this might not have been the best of ideas. He should have waited until Dean was standing. Maybe if he was wearing his winter tunic this would be alright, but with Dean's mouth so close to his bare skin, it's turning out to be a very bad idea on his part.

Thankfully, Dean pulls away not long after. He stands and even if his smile is smaller than before, there's still that warmth in his eyes and a blush creeping up his neck. Castiel almost asks then, about why they've slept so closely the last few nights, but the question stalls on his tongue. They clean up and Dean changes into his day clothes before they leave. The sun is shining through what clouds remain and the forest is teeming with life.

Castiel brings baskets with them for eggs and the last of his garden's harvest. They take the long way to the chicken roosts, comfortable in the silence for the majority of their walk. It's not until the come to the chickens maybe an hour later that they start talking about whatever comes to mind.

Dean talks at length about his brother and Jess, ranting about how they're like peas in a pod and gang up on him the moment they agree with each other. He talks about what few other friends he has – most of them Angel hunters – and how he's going to do his best to convince them to start hunting monsters instead. Castiel is content to listen, sometimes adding what little he can about the friends he used to have – and hopes that they'll still be his friends now that they won't get any backlash for it.

After they've gathered eggs, Castiel starts quizzing Dean about how to deal with various monsters. He likes to throw in an obscure reference for creatures from different continents just to throw Dean off when he gets cocky after getting several right. He's only been learning about hunting for a month and already his knowledge on the more common creatures he's likely to run into is extensive. Castiel especially likes listening to the list of ideas that Dean has about modifying his weapons, or designs that he has for new ones.

Their discussion about the differences in Hamiaah weapons and Dean's own carries them through picking the last of the garden. It's well into the afternoon by then and Castiel decides to leave the rest of the work for tomorrow. They'll need to take down what remains of the shelter that protects it from animals and turn the dirt so the last of the plants can decompose properly and leave the garden ready for planting next year.

While they clean and store everything they gathered, they cook their supper. Castiel makes a vegetable stew, pleased when Dean doesn’t object that there’s no meat in it. Tomorrow they’ll have to bake more bread and take a bath. His wings will need to be oiled after and that might take him some time, unless Dean is willing to help him. He’ll wait to see if Dean offers his assistance. If he does, Castiel certainly won’t say ‘no’.

After supper they roll up all the rain covers and return outside with strips of cord and a couple hand scythes. Dean leans against a tree and watches quietly as Castiel crouches in the center of the clearing and presses his palms to the dirt of the path that cuts through it. He puts Dean out of his mind and focuses on the itching tingle of electricity that sparks through his blood, gathering his powers and guiding it, shaping and pushing it through his hands and into the ground. He’ll be tired after this, but it will be worth it.

Castiel grows his materials in sections. One part of the clearing is reserved for long grass, grown thick and almost as tall as he is. The rest of the clearing is filled with straw. It takes careful concentration to keep the plants from growing grains like they should. That should be enough and they don’t need to harvest all of it tonight. If plants brought to existence without seeds and by his powers alone aren’t plucked, they return to the Earth within minutes or hours – depending on the energy he puts into growing them.

He explains this to Dean while they use the scythes to cut down the straw. Dean is always so full of questions, asking for clarification or picking up on something that Castiel didn’t realize he hinted at. He clarifies that the more energy he uses, the faster he can make something grow but the larger it is, the more time it will take.

“So, how long would it take to grow a tree?”

“It depends on the tree.” Castiel shrugs, gathering the straw into bundles and tying them off. “I could grow a great deal of bamboo in one day, a pine in a few months depending on how much time I devote to it, but something like a sequoia would take a year to grow to full maturity – and that’s only if I spend half of every day focusing on it.”

“That’s pretty damn awesome, Cas.”

His wings twitch and flare slightly at the praise and Castiel ducks his head. When it starts getting dark, they stop working to bring in what they have bundled. It’s plenty more than Castiel needs for the next few mats. He’ll have to continue making the mats throughout training if he wants to have enough to insulate his home during the winter. Now that his status has been returned, he should hopefully be able to trade easier throughout the year with the clan.

They use cloths dipped in water warmed over the fire to clean themselves up after everything is stored in the cave. Castiel keeps his back turned to Dean so he doesn’t watch and he tries not to hope that Dean will want to come with him to the lake tomorrow for his bath. He’s not sure how good of an idea that would be, but he certainly wouldn’t mind swimming with Dean again. It’s been a while since they did that together.

Dean changes into his sleep clothes after he’s wiped down and they settle on the othil with their respective books. For the first several pages of his book, he and Dean sit side by side, their shoulders almost touching. Castiel isn’t even finished the chapter he’s on before Dean moves, stretching out across the seat with his cheek on Castiel’s thigh.

It gets harder to breathe and harder to focus on the printed words when he can feel Dean’s breath ghosting over his skin. He’s not sure if he really manages to read anything after that, though he does continue to turn the pages and if he thinks hard enough he can sort of remember what happened. It takes longer than he would like for Castiel to gather his thoughts again, forgetting about how they’re sitting and returning to actually reading.

He keeps going until he realizes that Dean isn’t reading anymore. His book and eyes are closed, thumb caught between the pages. Carefully, Castiel puts his own book aside and extracts Dean’s from his slack hold. He marks the page and places it on the stump next to the othil. As loathe as he is to wake Dean, if he’s going to sleep then it should be in a proper bed and not on here.

“Dean.” He murmurs, poking him lightly in the cheek before holding his breath and boldly tracing his finger along the edge of his ear. That makes Dean’s forehead crinkle into a frown and he tries to bat Castiel’s hand away. “Dean, if you’re tired you should go to bed.”

“Y’coming too?” Dean manages around a yawn, rubbing at his eyes as he sits up.

“If you want me to.” Castiel stands and offers his hand, helping to pull Dean to his feet.

All he gets in answer is a nod, half lost for another yawn. Dean is barely awake as he tries climbing into the nest and Castiel has to steady him, stooping to hold his legs and help lift him until he can get mostly into the nest. His effort nearly gets him a knee to the head, but there’s a mumbled apology somewhere in the grunts and grumbles as Dean crawls to his sleeping bag. By the time Castiel gets to his own sleeping space, Dean is tucked in and snoring softly into his pillow.

Castiel leaves his wrap hanging over the side of the nest before he stretches out on his side, wings tucked carefully against his back, a blanket drawn up to his chest and another bunched under his head. He’s not going to worry tonight about whether or not he might get close to Dean while he’s sleeping. If it happens, he doesn’t think Dean will mind. For now he’s content laying as close as they are now, barely a foot of distance between them.

Even though he’s tired from the energy he expended with growing the straw and the grass, he slept much more than he needed this morning and Dean is interesting to watch when his guard is down. If Castiel arches his wing high enough, he can touch a primary to Dean’s cheek. Stroking it from temple to chin causes the funniest of faces and he amuses himself with it until Dean makes a huffing little whine of a noise and twists on his stomach to face the other direction. With his fun stolen, Castiel rests his wing over Dean’s like he has the last few nights.

He closes his eyes and tries to will himself to sleep, reminding himself that he can’t get used to sleeping against Dean’s side. There’s no point in getting accustomed to it when Dean will be leaving again in a few days and it might be months before he’s able to see him again. But after two days, Castiel thinks he might already be addicted. It was so nice sharing his space with someone else – with _Dean_ – that he couldn’t resist offering his nest for another night. There wasn’t even a question about it tonight and something warm flutters in his chest when he thinks about it.

When Dean moves under his wing, Castiel opens his eyes to watch him shuffle onto his side, his back to him. He smiles and lifts his wing enough for the soft alula feathers at its peak to brush against his ear before he rests it over him again and returns to trying to concentrate on falling asleep. So far it is proving to be unsuccessful.

Castiel counts each deep breath, hoping a steady rhythm – like Dean’s breathing or the pounding of his heart – will be enough to send him to sleep. Just as he feels like he’s finally nodding off, Dean rolls over again. He’s never known Dean to move so much in his sleep. Perhaps Dean can’t get comfortable? Or maybe he’s having vivid dreams?

His thought process grinds to a stop when something warm drops over his hand. Castiel holds his breath before he opens his eyes, exhaling sharply when he finds Dean laying much closer than before. He could count the freckles on Dean’s nose in the dark if he wanted to. The weight on the back of his left hand is Dean’s hand, the black of his dyed fingertips dark against his knuckles.

It might not be the same as being tucked to his back or side, but Castiel thinks this is just as nice. He likes Dean’s hands. They can be hard and deadly like a hunter needs them to be, or they can be soft and gentle, caring and sweet. He smiles at their hands between them, resisting the urge to move his hand over top of Dean’s so he can hold it properly. Yes, this is nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Daffodil: unrequited love  
> \- Gardenia: secret love  
> \- Peony: bashfullness  
> \- Snowdrop: hope


	27. Hot and Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want any of them.” He sighs, tucking the flower into one of the strings that holds his mat frame together. His voice drops even quieter and something behind Dean’s ribs hurts with the whisper. “And none of them want me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary)

There are two things Dean is aware of when he wakes up and that’s before he’s even got his eyes open. The first is that he’s sleeping in Cas’s nest again, and he doesn’t even remember coming up here. Totally not the problem right now. Technically, there isn’t a problem – but he’s pretty damn sure that he might be holding Cas’s hand and even though that’s not all that different from the cuddling they’ve been doing the last few nights… It kinda feels more _intimate_. Especially considering how that’s the only point that they’re touching – not counting Cas’s wing folded over him or that their knees are kinda pressed together through two layers of blankets.

When he cracks open one eye, just to make sure, Dean squints against the sunlight. Usually Cas would be awake by now, but he’s still snoozing away _a lot_ closer than Dean would’ve expected considering they’re not actually cuddling right now. He’s close enough that Dean could count his eyelashes if he wanted to, but he’s really more distracted by Cas’s hand under his and how Cas is kind of pinning a few fingers to the side of his hand with his thumb. Dean doesn’t know if they got caught when he curled his hand in the blanket, or if Cas did it on purpose, but if he tries to extract his hand now, he runs the risk of waking Cas up.

Or maybe Cas is already awake.

Yeah, Dean’s gonna go with that. Stupid early risers – how the hell do people even manage that? If Dean had his way, he’d sleep all day every day with food, bathroom, and – if available – sex breaks in between. Shit, yeah. That sounds like the perfect life.

“Good morning.” Cas murmurs, not even opening his eyes. He does do something with his thumb against Dean’s fingertips, like a squeeze-stroke before he lets go. It’s like he’s giving permission for Dean to move his hand but he kind of doesn’t want to. Instead of moving his hand, Dean leaves it. It's what gets Cas to open his eyes and wow, they are really fucking blue. Is that an Angel thing or just a Cas thing? He doesn't know and there's really no particular desire to get close enough to another Angel to find out if their eyes are as brightly coloured as Cas's.

Once he realizes that he's been basically studying the different shades of blue in Cas's eyes, he also realizes that it's been a few moments – maybe even minutes – since Cas said anything and Dean still hasn't said anything back. He manages a small smile that only really lifts half his mouth. The other half of his face is kind of smushed against the pillow. “Mornin'.”

Cas smiles too with his eyes and his mouth and Dean realizes, maybe a little belatedly, that this might be the best time to ask Cas about all _this_. Ask him or just tell him. Yeah. He should just come out and say it. I think I'm in love with you. Blatant and out there and fuck, what is Cas gets caught up on the 'I think'? It's kinda wishy-washy, isn't it? But he doesn't want to just flat out say the rest of it. He can't remember the last time he said that to anyone. Not Sam, not Bobby, and definitely not John.

Fuck, the last time he probably said it was to his mom and look how that turned out. He had been planning on saying it to Cassie but then she dumped him. He knows that he loves Sam, but Sam had left him too and it had taken nearly a year for that feeling of abandonment to fade enough for them to start talking again. Even John's gone and dumped Dean's ass like he's just so freaking _useless_. The only one who's never left him behind is Bobby and now even Cas is leaving but not really and _goddamn his brain_. It really needs to stop going off and thinking about all this other stuff when he's trying to get up the courage to say something to Cas about the stupid tight feeling he gets in his chest when he looks at him – like he's too full and too empty all at the same time and it's all because of Cas.

Dean knows he's gone and lost his chance when Cas's wing drags over him slowly, pulling away to stretch out behind him. It's probably just his imagination that Cas looks a little more red in the cheeks than usual as he sits up and stretches, arms above his head and wings fanning out every which way. He has to wait until Cas's wings are folded prim against his back again, longest feathers curving against the bed, before he can sit up too without running the risk of being hit by them. It's probably a bad idea to watch Cas stretch, but Dean kind of got caught up in roll and pull of muscles and skin and wow he should really look away before his dick decides today is going to be one of those mornings where the forest isn't the only thing around with wood.

Cue the need for a distracting conversation and rolling onto his stomach to literally squash any ideas his dick might have. “Got any plans for the day, Cas?”

He hums and does that happy little whoosh of air people do after a good stretch. “I would like to bake some bread, take a bath, oil my wings, and I really need to weaving more mats.”

Dean waits until he’s sure Cas has his wrap on and he’s not crawling around in the nest in nothing but his loincloth before he lifts his head and props himself up on his elbows. Sure enough, Cas is just tying his shoulder straps to the bit that wraps around his waist. “I’ll make breakfast, you make your bread and that can bake while we eat.”

“Thank you.” Cas glances up and he’s still smiling. It sends something hot spiraling through his chest and that has nothing to do with the heat still trying to decide if it’s worth it to build up in his gut.

After Cas swings down from the nest, Dean still stays in place long enough to make sure that he’s not going to be sporting a hard on when he gets down himself. When it’s all coming up daisies, he crawls his way to the edge and carefully drops down to the table. Cas has already been outside and now he’s working away at making the dough.

“Do you mind if I come with you to the lake?” Dean asks while rooting through his bag for what he’s going to wear for the rest of the day. “I could use a bath myself and I can help you oil your wings up at the beach after, if you want.” He looks over his shoulder, just in case offering that up gets Cas to grow some flowers or something.

There aren’t any flowers but Cas’s wings do twitch and the feathers fluff up a little. And it’s a little hard to tell but he thinks Cas might stop moving for a moment before he speaks. “You’re welcome to join me, Dean. But you don’t have to trouble yourself with my wings.”

“It’s no trouble.” He looks back down at his hands, grabbing a shirt and a zip-up sweater and tossing them on the couch with a pair of jeans. He’ll wait until after his bath to change. “It’s easier on you to have someone else do it, isn’t it?”

Cas doesn’t say ‘no’, but he doesn’t say ‘yes’ either. Dean tries not to worry over it while he makes breakfast, eats it, or while he gets all his stuff together for going to the lake. Cas doesn’t bring much more a couple blanket-towels, his covered bowl of soap root and another jar that he fills up with the oil for his wings – scooping it out of the massive urn-thing that he keeps it in.

The only thing Dean does before they leave is switch his pajama pants out for his swim trunks while Cas takes the bread out of the domed oven. It’s either take a bath in his bathing suit or do it naked, and even if he’s got no problem being in the buff around other dudes – he’s not sure how Cas would take it and he doesn’t want to push the envelope before they even _talk_.

They talk about Dean’s plans after he leaves in a few days and how he wants to go visit Sam and Jess, stopping along the way for any ‘jobs’ that might crop up. Cas starts quizzing him halfway to the lake, making sure he knows what to do if he comes across a ghoul, or a wendigo, vampires, and a handful of other things – throwing in obscure monsters like okami or dragons just to mess him up.

They  actually builds a fire on the beach before they get in the water, using twigs and fallen branches in a hole that Dean digs out while Cas looks for them. It’s not _too_ cool, but Dean’s pretty sure they’re not going to be splashing around in the lake for long – not like the last time they were down here together. Sure enough, the moment Cas is done soaping everything up, he swims out leaving a trail of soap bubbles behind him and dives to do his cleansing thing. Dean sits in the shallows and finishes washing himself, watching for when Cas pops back up and his wings fan out just under the surface, paddling slightly as he swims back to the beach.

“Have a good swim?” He asks as Cas gets close enough to get his feet under him and stand.

“Very.” Cas practically grins at him just before his wings snap out, spraying water everywhere.

Dean squawks and tries ducking for cover, but he’s out in the open and it’s no good. Worse yet, Cas turns and keeps beating his wings to flick the water off his feathers and Dean has to scramble to safety or keep getting pelted with cold little drops.

He’s eternally thankful for the fire and the blankets Cas brought. He sits on one and dries himself off with the towel he brought, well aware of and not saying anything about the little red daisies that pop up around the blanket Cas is sitting on while he pats himself dry with another blanket. Once he’s dry enough, Dean takes his clothes and changes into his clothes behind a tree while Cas sits by the fire and works at drying his wings enough for the oiling.

“So...” Dean starts as he spreads his towel out next to the fire and drops his shorts in a heap beside it – he can shake the sand out of them later. “Do you want me to oil them for you.”

It's hard to miss that blush when it turns the tips of Cas's ears red and he won't look up at him. “If you want to.”

“Give it.” He holds his hand out for the jar with the oil. As if he's ever going to give up a chance to touch Cas's wings and watch the way he gets all tense at first and then just relaxes into it like it's the best feeling in the world.

He kneels behind Cas and starts at the base of his wing and the downy feathers surrounding it. This time there's no tensing up. The moment his oiled fingers start stroking through the feathers, Cas's chin drops to his chest and let lets out a little sigh. The more of his feathers Dean touches and cards his fingers through, the more noises Cas makes – never louder than little hums and mmm's and more of those soft sighs. All of this is starting to border on pornographic and Dean hasn't even managed to get halfway done with just _one_ wing.

Cas is making it harder and harder to _not_ get hard and Dean still has a whole other wing to go over. Maybe he should crack some kind of stupid joke to break the mood – but he really kind of likes the mood and it's not like Cas is doing all that on purpose. He pauses with both hands buried in the feathers in the curve of Cas's wings and glances at him. His head is still forward, but the back of his neck is red too now. Either he's blushing because he's enjoying it too much or... or what?

Fuck. Dean needs to get his head back in the game as he starts brushing through the feathers again. He can think with his dick later or not at all. The last thing he needs is another dose of guilt for jerking off while thinking about Cas. And he doesn't want to run the risk that Cas might know what he's up to again – since he's already convinced Cas knows _exactly_ what he did in the Impala the other day. Though everything kind of turned out okay after that – if he doesn't think about how Cas ran off as soon as he got back. Maybe it would be okay if he did it again?

Or maybe he should ask Cas to join in.

No, no. Shut up. His dick isn't allowed any say in what he does with Cas. Bad things that feel really good tend to happen when he does that and even if he'd fucking _love_ to have that kind of fun with Cas, he'd be willing to bet his _car_ that Cas wouldn't be ready for something like that just out of the blue.

That still doesn't change the fact that by the end of the first wing Dean is half-hard in his jeans and crushing red flowers under his feet with every step. He recognizes them as poppies because they’re the same kind that people wear on their shirts around Memorial Day. But that only distracts him from the sounds Cas is making for all of  thirty seconds.

Time for a distraction that’ll keep Cas from making all those noises. Dean starts with asking him about his powers again – things like where do they come from and how the flowers that keep cropping up now and then have to do with them.

Cas explains that Hamiaah believe that their abilities come from Caosgi – the Earth. The flowers only happen if he’s relaxed and not actively controlling his powers, which means they react to his strongest emotions and grow a flower that would represent what he’s feeling.

“How does the growing thing work?” Dean asks, pinching around a feather to smooth the oil over it. “I mean, do you need seeds or what? You grew the table without seeds – as far as I can tell – and it’s stayed, but you grow the flowers without seeds and they go away in, like, 5 minutes.”

Cas hums and tilts his head back. “I can grow any plant I please simply by thinking about it and focusing my energy into growing it, but it takes more out of me than if I was to grow it from a seed.” His other wing stretches out over the sand and water in a kind of stretch. “If I had a seed, I would only have to encourage it to grow faster. The plants I grow from seeds have a normal lifespan but the others live depending on how much energy I’ve put into it.”

“Does that means the table is gonna disappear?”

“Not as long as I renew it every week like I do with my nest.” Cas shrugs, closing his eyes and muffling another noise in his throat when Dean rakes his fingers through one particular spot. That earns him a whole new batch of poppies. “Depending on when I return from training, It might be gone. But it won’t be difficult to grow another one.”

“That’s awesome.”

Their conversation carries them through all the trees Cas has manipulated while they grow to shape them – like he did with the ones that make up his home and onto what else he can do. It successfully kills his boner and Dean is happy to listen on the walk back as Cas talks about how if he concentrates enough then he can actually control vines and make them move like extra limbs and _that_ puts all kinds of ideas into Dean’s head.

It’s like this day is out to make sure he’s as sexually frustrated as physically possible. He needs more distractions and turning the discussion to mats is one of them. “How come you need to make so many?”

“For winter.” Cas says over his shoulder, walking ahead of Dean on the small path that leads up to his house. “I line the walls with them as insulation. And I still need them for trading with the clan, regardless of my status with them. I don’t know the full extent of the plans, but I’d rather not be there during the mating season if I can help it.”

They stop outside the house and shake the sand out of everything. Dean leaves his shorts hanging on a little nub sticking off one of the trees. He’s got a ton of questions about the mating season – like when it is and how it affects Cas, but he’s not sure if Cas even wants to talk about it that much. Hell, his wings are fanning out and he’s not looking all that happy just mentioning it. But Dean’s curious and he’s going to try and at least talk about it a little.

“How come?”

Cas’s frown only gets deeper and he goes red in the cheeks when he holds the vines out of the way for Dean to duck through first. “During the winter, multiple families will live in the same cave instead of separate outdoor dwellings.”

“Why?” Dean glances back as he drops his stuff with his bag and slumps onto the couch.

“Don’t interrupt.” Cas shoots him a glare as he gets one of the bundles of stuff they harvested yesterday before sitting in front of the mat frame at the end of the couch. “In winter we live in caves because it’s easier to stay warm. I don’t want to be there for the mating season because it’s almost unbearable to be around people during that time but not have someone to mate with to alleviate all the –” He stops and waves one hand in a vague gesture that Dean gets the gist of pretty damn quickly.

“Then why don’t you take a mate this year?” There’s a fifty-fifty chance that Dean might hate the answer to this question but he’s morbidly curious about what Cas might say.

He winces and flinches automatically at the snapping sound Cas’s wings make when they flare out sharply. The only change in Cas’s expression is that his lips thin out a little, but it’s enough for Dean to actually feel bad about asking the question. It takes a minute of deep breathing before Cas’s wings fold up against his back again, but his back is still ramrod straight and his shoulders are so tense that Dean’s are hurting just by looking at him.

“Cas?” Dean asks softly, testing the waters.

Only one flower grows between them – little, white, popcorn-shaped bulbs hanging off of a solid looking stalk. He’s never seen it before and he’s tempted to ask what they are, but now really doesn’t seem like the time. He’ll just have to file them away in his head and google them at Sam’s or something later.

Cas glances down at the flower and all the hard edges to him just evaporate, his wings drooping and his shoulders sagging. He actually plucks the flower and the way he holds it, gentle and _sad_ , makes Dean want to hug him again – something he’s been holding off on doing so far today. After what happened in the nest and on the beach, he didn’t want to risk it.

“I don’t want any of them.” He sighs, tucking the flower into one of the strings that holds his mat frame together. His voice drops even quieter and something behind Dean’s ribs hurts with the whisper. “And none of them want me.”

Screw it.

He’s on his knees and behind Cas before he has time to think this through. Dean’s arms go around Cas’s waist, knees on either side of his hips, and he gets as close as he can without pressing too hard on his wing joints. Cas goes still for a moment before he covers Dean’s arms with his own and actually leans back against him.

“Fuck them.” Dean murmurs, resting his cheek against the back of Cas’s neck. “They’re not worth your time if they’re letting your wings keep them from seeing how fucking awesome you are.”

Cas squeezes his wrist and Dean can actually _hear_ the smile in his voice – and he’s pretty sure he can feel a blush under his cheek too. “You think so?”

“Hell yeah!” He hugs tighter and fights the temptation to press a kiss just above the collar of Cas’s wrap. In hindsight, Dean probably should have learned by now that he shouldn’t split his thoughts when he’s talking because things just have this tendency to _slip out_.

“Dude, if I was an Angel I’d jump at the chance to be your mate.”

x

Even Dean is motionless when he realizes the weight of his words. Castiel isn’t even sure either of them are breathing at the moment, though he can feel the heat burning in his ears and face. What is he supposed to say to that? Does Dean even know the different inflections that go with the term ‘mate’? He’s aware that Dean thinks he’s sexually attractive, so does that mean Dean said that he wants to be his mate in the sense that he wants to have sex with him? Or did he say it meaning that he would like to court him with the eventual desire to be his mate for life – pledging ceremony and all?

His wings fan out slightly at the thought that Dean might mean the latter. If they were courting one another, Dean would be here more – if not living here permanently – and he would be allowed to visit the clan with him. He would be able to have Dean in all senses and he wouldn’t feel so guilty about finding pleasure in Dean’s hands on his wings or how he always carries Castiel’s scent on his skin for days after he helps oil them.

This visit so far has been so _different_ than Castiel is used to having from Dean. In the last day they’ve touched far more than all the other times he’s seen Dean combined. But he’s still so unsure. He doesn’t know how Dean acts around his other friends. Does he touch them as freely as he does Castiel, or is he more reserved?

Should he risk asking what Dean meant? If he calls attention to it, Dean might stop touching him and he doesn’t want that. He hasn’t been hugged like this since his parents died and not since he was a young child has he slept beside someone. These moments when Dean willingly puts his arms around him are too precious to Castiel and he doesn’t want to lose them.

He squeezes Dean’s wrist again and looks over his shoulder, turning enough that Dean is forced to lean back. His eyes are wider than normal and he looks uneasy, as if he’s aware of the double entendre and unsure of which he means. Seeing that look on Dean’s face only seals Castiel’s resolve not to ask further and he forces a small smile to his lips.

“Thank you, Dean. I appreciate the sentiment.”

Castiel isn’t expecting Dean’s expression to shift for a split second. The only word that comes to mind to describe it is ‘pain’ – but then it’s gone before Castiel can even blink, replaced with a too big grin. Being able to tell that Dean is forcing a smile shouldn’t make his heart beat faster, it shouldn’t make that hope in his chest grow. He’s confused, of course. Is Dean uncomfortable, aware of the mistake he made? Or is he disappointed with Castiel’s response?

Dean rocks back onto his feet, using Castiel’s shoulders to help himself stand. “It’s what I’m here for, Cas. Hey, you hungry? I’ll get lunch started.”

He watches Dean walk away, trying not to notice how quickly he’s moving or how stiff his gait is. There are questions on the tip of his tongue, but Castiel bites his lip to keep them at bay. If Dean is uncomfortable with what just transpired, then he shouldn’t ask anything that might aggravate the situation. Especially not if it runs the risk that Dean will stop touching him altogether.

Castiel puts those thoughts out of his mind as he starts the beginning of the mat. He hasn’t worked on any since Dean arrived and he’s fallen behind in building up his stores – although it’s no fault of Dean’s. The news Uriel had brought was more of a distraction to him than Dean has been. Right now he needs to focus his mind and stop being distracted. If he’s diligent, he should be able to get a quarter of the mat done today.

Their lunch is leftover stew and something Dean calls a BLT sandwich – two slices of bread with lettuce, tomato and bacon in between. Castiel likes it and mentally adds it to the growing list of meals he can make for himself when Dean isn’t here. They eat their lunch in a silence bordering on the uncomfortable while seated at the table. Dean seems closed off, his shoulders hunched as he stares down at his bowl.

It only lasts for a few minutes before Dean straightens his shoulders and strikes up a conversation about what the refresher training will entail. Castiel doesn’t go into detail, but he does explain how he’ll likely have to go through a rigorous course to test his skill in battle. If he’s found lacking, he’ll likely have to attend a few training camps until it’s agreed that he’s fit for combat. After that, if his status is truly restored, then he will likely be returned to being in charge of his garrison and will have to make sure that they’re able to work in teams.

“And they’re gonna want you to do all that in just a few months?” Dean asks around the last mouthful of his sandwich.

“I have no idea how long it’s going to take. These are just _preparations_ for an all out war. We might be called out to battle long before we’re ready if the Hamiamma strike sooner than expected.” Castiel shrugs, stacking his empty bowl on his plate.

He doesn’t miss how Dean’s expression pulls tight and unhappy for a moment before he looks down at his bowl again. Dean opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something but he stops, instead reaching out to take Castiel’s dishes and putting them with his own.

“I’ll clean up and you can get back to your mat thing, okay?”

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel says as he stands, hoping that a smile will be enough to ease whatever is bothering him now.

As they pass one another, Dean surprises him by grabbing his arm, pulling Castiel to a stop. The grip is lighter than he would expect. It’s an almost gentle touch, especially the way Dean lets go, fingers trailing along Castiel’s wrist before his hand drops away completely.

“You’re gonna be safe though, right?” He asks softly, looking away when Castiel turns around to meet his eyes. “I mean – be careful or I’m going to worry and shit. Just – yeah.”

Castiel briefly wonders, in the moment before Dean turns away to go wash the dishes, if now would have been an appropriate time for another hug. If Dean hadn’t walked away, Castiel could have hugged him. He could have folded his wings around him and promised he would be as careful as possible if it meant that he’ll be able to return here to Dean. But it’s a promise he can’t make. His training won’t be dangerous, but if he’s called to actual battle then there is no guarantee that he will make it out alive.

He settles back down in front of the mat, trying not to think further on the matter. The arbutus flower that grew earlier is wilting where he tucked it against the frame. With a touch and a small surge of power, Castiel rejuvenates it. Looking at it may cause a small stab of pain behind his sternum, but it’s a beautiful flower and reminds him of Dean.

The rest of the day, with the exception of dinner, Castiel spends working on the mat. Dean busies himself around the salman – tinkering with his weapons, playing games on the contraption he calls a ‘laptop’, or settling down on the othil with a book he doesn’t open while he strikes up a conversation about the one that Castiel is halfway through.

That discussion carries them through supper and afterward Dean stretches out half on the othil and half off. He tucks a folded blanket under his chest and chin, and props his book open against Castiel’s thigh while he reads. It’s a comfortable silence that Castiel is glad for. He doesn’t need to think while they’re like this. It’s a time when he can sink into the repetitive motion of his hands and let his mind drift while he works, enjoying the closeness and the feel of Deans fingers brushing through the feathers of his closest wing. He’s noticed that Dean does it absently when he’s reading and Castiel has no desire to stop him from continuing.

It’s as they’re settling down for the night, Dean already under his own blanket while Castiel is kneeling in his spot and removing his wrap, that Dean clears his throat. He has his back turned to him and Castiel isn’t sure if it’s to give him privacy while he undresses or his personal comfort as he gets ready to sleep.

“Hey, Cas, how comfortable are you with all of this?”

Castiel looks up from folding his wrap over one of the vines. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Dean waves his hand over his shoulder in a vague gesture. “This. The sleeping together, and all the hugs and shit that we’ve been doing this week. How comfortable are you with it?”

“Are you asking because _you’re_ uncomfortable with it?” He asks, carefully shuffling back from the edge of the nest to where his blanket is.

“I’m pretty sure I initiate most – or all of it.” Dean shrugs, his back still turned. “Which is kind of the whole the whole reason I’m asking. If you’re not comfortable with it or you don’t like it, I’ll stop and –”

He falls silent when Castiel curves a wing over him, rolling onto his back a moment later as Castiel arranges his own blanket over himself. Once he’s done, Castiel steels himself and slides closer to Dean, pleased when Dean lifts his arm to make room for him against his side. It’s much the same as the first night they slept like this and Castiel is slightly surprised by just how natural it feels to fit himself into Dean’s space – like it’s a place just for him.

“I like this.” He murmurs and curls his fingers in the fabric of Dean’s shirt over his chest, aware that he’s saying the same he did the first night. “This is nice.”

Dean’s stomach shakes under his elbow with a silent laugh and Castiel closes his eyes when Dean’s hand slides through his hair. “Yeah, it kinda is.”

Castiel answer is a hum of sound. He can’t remember ever having someone’s hand play through his hair like this and it’s exquisite. It’s almost as good as when Dean touches his wings, though it certainly having a different effect on him. This is a different kind of pleasure and it’s quickly erases any worries or thoughts that continue to plague his mind. The gentle sweep of fingertips over his scalp ushers in the heavy dark of sleep faster than Castiel would have expected.

By morning, Castiel can’t remember if he dreamed the kiss to his forehead or not.

The rest of Dean’s visit is much the same as that day had been. In the mornings they have breakfast before hiking through the forest for Castiel’s inspection of the trees and animals. Sometimes they walk in silence, and sometimes they can’t stop talking. They always have lunch back at the salman and Castiel spends the afternoon working on weaving while Dean entertains himself with his own projects. Even that time isn’t exempt from their discussions.

Every day, after dinner, Castiel stops working on the mats long enough to spend an hour or so reading with Dean on the othil. Aside from the moments when he wakes up next to Dean and when he falls asleep against him, the time they spend reading together is one of his favourites. They’re certainly easier for him to deal with than the few times that Dean excuses himself to take something to his car – things like dirty clothes or the weapons he’s finished modifying – and comes back covered in a scent that Castiel has to fight with himself to keep from reacting to it.

It only happens twice more before Dean leaves and they’re both early in the morning before they leave for their hike. Castiel can’t help but wonder if it’s because Dean had pleasant dreams, and he’s not sure if he wants to hold out the hope that it’s sleeping so close to him that brings out that kind of reaction in Dean. In any case, the most trying time for Castiel is the hours it takes afterward the scent of arousal and release to leave Dean’s skin.

On the eighth day of Dean’s visit, they wake up earlier than normal. It’s the day that Dean is leaving and Castiel doesn’t want him to go. He doesn’t know when he’s going to get to see Dean again and after a week of sharing his nest with him, it’s going to be very empty when he goes to sleep tonight. The only saving grace that keeps him from moping is that Dean doesn’t take his sleeping bag and pillow with him when he climbs down from the nest, and he doesn’t move to pack up the cooler after breakfast. His bags were packed the night before and Castiel carries one when they leave for the short hike to the sandy clearing and the car.

“Make sure you don’t leave any meat in the cooler before you go.” Dean explains, shouldering the back bag. “And just shove it in the back of the cave. The battery will run out and if you come back and want to use you can just put it in the sun again. It’ll take half a day or so to cool down properly.”

“I’m aware, Dean. You explained this to me yesterday.”

“I know, I just want to make sure you don’t break it. Bobby and I worked long and hard on that thing.” He turns a teasing grin to him and Castiel can’t help but smile back, even if it is a little forced. “And I promise that the next time I visit I’ll bring more bacon and chicken. I’ll keep a list and you just tell me anything else when we talk.”

Castiel nods and listens as Dean recites other things he could ask for. He wonders if Dean is being talkative right now to help distract from the fact that he’s leaving. It’s a sobering fact that makes it hard for him to enjoy their walk like he usually would – especially when he knows that Dean won’t be returning to his salman with him.

The only time Dean stops talking is when he’s putting the bags in the backseat of his car. It doesn’t last long and he turns around with a hard set to his jaw after shutting the door. “You’re gonna call, right?”

His wings twitch, feathers itching to spread in surprise. That wasn’t what he was expecting Dean to say. Castiel dips his head in a small nod. “As often as I am able.”

“Good. And you stay safe. Don’t let anyone push you around.”

“I’ll try and if I don’t like how they’re treating me then I’ll return home.” Castiel nods again, pleased when his words relieve some of the tension in Dean’s shoulders.

“Good.” Dean repeats, opening another door and sliding onto the seat. “You want a ride to the tree-gate thing or am I just gonna meet you there?”

“I’m not sure my wings could fit comfortably in there.” Castiel leans forward to glance through one of the windows. “I’d rather run than attempt it. I’ll have the tree moved by the time you get there.”

It’s a decent distance to the tree that hides the entrance to the narrow path. He jogs well ahead of Dean’s vehicle, knowing that Dean will drive it carefully. With how often Dean extols the many wonders of his car, Castiel is well aware of how much he cares for it. The run does little to keep him from thinking about how Dean didn’t hug him before getting in his car this time. He tries hard to turn his thoughts away from that, but he can’t help wondering _why_.

The moment Dean pulls out onto the main road, Castiel focuses his powers into the Earth and the roots of the tree, guiding it to fold over again to block the path. He murmurs a small prayer of thanks to the tree, running a hand over the trunk as he walks around it. To his surprise, Dean is leaning against the side of the car with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. It’s running and the door is still open, but Dean steps away from the car as Castiel approaches.

“We haven’t said goodbye yet.” Dean shrugs, answering the question Castiel didn’t ask.

His arms fit around Castiel’s waist with a familiar ease, sliding up until he can feel them press against the joints of his wings. Without hesitation Castiel wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders, folding his wings around him until they overlap behind his back. It’s a warm and solid comfort – the closest he thinks he might ever get to having what he wants – and Castiel doesn’t want to let go and have to wait months before he’ll be able to see Dean again.

Every thought falls silent the moment Dean presses a kiss just below his ear. It’s gentle and lingering and Castiel’s wings flare out in surprise, snapping wide almost painfully. He feels Dean go still under his arms before he pulls away sharply, face red and unable to meet Castiel’s eyes as he staggers back a few steps, stumbling over his words.

“Shit – fuck, sorry, Cas – I didn’t even think – that was – I do that with Jess sometimes and I – fuck –”

Dean looks embarrassed, uncomfortable – _afraid_ , but Castiel is having trouble processing what he’s seeing and hearing. His fingers twitch, wanting to touch the spot that continues to tingle though Dean’s lips aren’t touching it anymore. It suddenly feels like there’s no more air in his lungs and Castiel has to remind himself how to breathe, force himself to return to the moment.

“It’s alright, Dean.” He doesn’t know how the words get out sounding so calm. It’s almost the exact opposite of how he feels right now, his heart pounding hard enough to hurt behind his ribs. He gathers himself before continuing, wanting to help ease Dean’s nerves since he’s clearly not comfortable at the moment. “It’s not like it meant anything.”

He doesn’t understand why he sees _pain_ flicker over Dean’s face. Dean licks his lips, his mouth opening and closing a few times before words finally come out. “I’ll see you later, Cas.”

Castiel touches the spot below his ear while he watches Dean drive away, wondering just what exactly it _did_ mean as snowdrops bloom in swatches around him, the white petals bright in the morning light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Red Daisy: you’re lovely  
> \- Red poppy: pleasure  
> \- Arbutus: you’re the only one I love  
> \- Snowdrop: hope


	28. Three Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What if it wasn’t an accident?” The words are out of his mouth before Dean can catch them and maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s finally time they talk about this. He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath, listening to the silence on the line for a minute before filling it himself. “Are you surrounded by those damn peonies right now?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Stupid. So fucking stupid. What the _hell_ was he thinking? A number of blasphemous curses that would make even the hardiest of priests blanche fill the front seat of the impala as Dean drives away. He’s just barely resisting the urge to repeatedly bang his forehead against the steering wheel. It’s not Baby’s fault that Dean’s a fucking _dumbass_ and went and kissed Cas on the – on the what? Neck? Ear? Cheek?

He doesn’t even remember the where, just that Cas’s wings had snapped away from hugging him to being spread almost as wide as they would go and he’d practically turned to stone in Dean’s arms. There’s a decent chance that Cas has never been that tense before with him – not even when they were frien-emies when Dean was helping him heal up after assaulting the dude. This was Cas surprised beyond all measure of a doubt and Dean did that by being so fucking _stupid_.

It’s like his body (or his mind, he’s not sure which at this point) has had enough of this shit between him and Cas and is sabotaging him by saying or doing things that would have made them actually have that _talk_. Or at least that’s what would have happened if Cas was a normal person. But he’s not. He’s as emotionally stunted as Dean is and so far beyond socially ungraceful that Dean doesn’t think there’s actually a word for it. And it’s all part of what Dean finds so frikken endearing about the bastard.

For the last few days, Dean’s been looking for the right time when they should talk. Whenever he thinks he’s found it, whenever he tries testing the waters, Cas says or does something that shatters whatever little courage Dean’s managed to work up. He keeps taking one step forward and falling back fifteen whenever Cas opens his mouth and says something that makes Dean feel like he’s running head first into a brick wall.

It’s not like this week wasn’t already hard enough on him. They kept up the ridiculous cuddling and sharing Cas’s nest. If there hadn’t been blankets in the way, Dean’s pretty sure that they would have been all tangled up in each other, legs and arms and Cas probably would’ve noticed that one day when Dean woke up with morning wood. Fuck, that was the worst – trying to make some piss poor excuse to run off to the Impala. It’s all Cas’s fault for being cuddly and then insists on being all stretchy and sexy in the morning as soon as they wake up – playing havoc with Dean’s imagination.

He continues swearing at himself all the way through the mountains until he gets to a town on the western side. After gassing up the Impala and trashing the plastic bag full of embarrassingly used tissues, Dean contemplates spending the rest of the day here and finding the nearest bar to get drunk enough to forget that glassy surprised look in Cas’s eyes when he’d stepped away and stuttered some shitty excuse about how he does that all the time with Jess. And that was a lie – if he ever tried to kiss Jess in any way, shape, or form, he’s pretty sure Sam would string him up by his balls.

The thing is – Dean doesn’t want alcohol. He’s actually _too angry_ with himself. Being around people just seems like a pain and he kind of wants to get away from the mountains right now. It’s too close to Cas and maybe he needs to get away from him right now. He needs to get away and breathe and think and the sooner he gets to Stanford, the sooner he can bitch at Sam and Jess for maybe being sort of right about how Cas feels about him. Then he can tell them all about how fucking _confusing_ Cas is and maybe they’ll understand why he’s going out of his fucking mind.

It’s driving him crazy. Sometimes he thinks they’re right and Cas would be totally up for being more than friends – and Dean isn’t talking about the kind with benefits. He’s talking _relationship_ – and that should terrify him. It kind of does, but at the same time that rushing feeling behind his ribs is a lot closer to anticipation than it is fear. Which is weird as all hell because normally he’d be scared shitless of anything that involves something as committing as a _relationship_.

If he’s going to drink about this, he wants to do it in the comfort of a home with people who’ll actually take care of him. Plus he misses Sammy a lot and Jess makes friggen _awesome_ chocolate chip cookies. He’s just going to have to blast his tapes for the whole ride and hope that by the time he pulls into the parking lot across from their apartment that he’s not going to still want to crawl under a rock and never see the light of day again.

There are probably some hunts he could pick up along the way if he bothered to stop and ask questions or glance at a local newspaper while passing through towns, but Dean doesn’t bother. If he stops for anything more than gas and piss break then he’ll probably make it to Stanford after midnight and Sam would have his head for waking him up. As it stands, it’s at least a fourteen hour drive to get there and he didn’t leave all that early today. By his best guesstimate, he should be reaching Sam and Jess maybe a little after ten – which would technically be eleven, but he’s gaining an hour thanks to the time difference. He’s not sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.

Sure enough, it’s not even half past when he parks the car and slumps in his seat. Now he’s got three flights of stairs to climb with his bags and he really doesn’t want to do that. Why couldn’t they have gotten a place with a damn elevator? Cheapskates. He clears the backseat of the duffle and his backpack and locks up.

Sam answers the door in his pajamas and with toothpaste foam still in the corners of his mouth. “You could have _called ahead_ and said you were coming.”

Dean shoves his cell phone into Sam’s hands and pushes past him. “Battery died.”

“Funny, I could have sworn you had a satellite phone too.”

He shrugs and kicks off his boots, stooping to line them up against the wall or risk the wrath of Jess. Hell, Dean even hangs up his coat before dragging his stuff to the living room and stacking them against a wall. There’s no point in taking them to the office slash guest room. They’re full of clothes that need cleaning and he might as well just sleep in his underwear tonight and borrow Sam’s sweats and a t-shirt in the morning so he can take everything down the hall to the laundry room and shell out a couple dollars to wash it all.

The sound of the phone booting up nearly makes Dean smile as he drops face first onto the couch. Sam makes an annoyed sound and Dean gets a punch to the back of his shoulder. He winces and muffles a laugh into the cushions that smell better than any couch has the right to.

“Fuck you, Dean. Your phone wasn’t dead, it was _off_.”

“Was saving the battery for you.” Dean turns his head to look up at him, noticing Jess standing in the entrance to the hall. “Your frikken picture is on that thing.”

That shuts Sam up and Jess practically skips across the living room to lean against his side and look at the screen. Dean silently counts how long it takes Sam to navigate what few menus the piece of shit convenience store phone has. Like the ridiculously gross couple that they are, Sam hunches down so he and Jess can squint at the screen, cheeks practically pressed together.

He flinches when Jess jumps back with a whoop. “Blue eyes! I win, we’re getting a cat!”

“Nuh uh. Your bet was _blonde_ with blue eyes. Cas is clearly a brunette.” He wiggles the phone at her. “We’re at a stalemate unless Dean manned up and finally confessed to kissing him.” Sam pauses before turning and looking down at him. “Did you? Better yet, did you guys actually kiss again? Say ‘yes’ because I _really_ want a dog, Dean.”

“Oh, fuck you _both_.” He hisses, turning his face back into the pillow. “I don’t need your bullshit on top of the crap that happened this morning.”

Someone pats the back of his head and Dean can’t for the life of him tell who does it, but it’s Jess that talks and she sort of sounds pretty close to his ear. “What did you screw up this time, Winchester?”

He mumbles his answer into the pillow to make sure they can’t hear him. God knows how they’re going to tear into him for kissing Cas again – even if it wasn’t on the mouth – without telling him how he feels first. But he’d been thinking it. He’d been thinking about kissing Cas on the cheek and telling him ‘goodbye’ and ‘be careful’ and ‘I pretty sure I’m in love with you’. Maybe because he was thinking about it is why he did it.

But Cas is going to be going to the clan. They’re not going to see each other for who-knows-how-many months and how much of a douche move would it be for him to tell Cas that right before _he_ leaves. If he’d said it earlier, a few days earlier, they would’ve been able to have all those talks that Dean hates and maybe he would’ve been allowed to gives Cas a proper kiss goodbye. That would’ve been awesome.

Jess pinches his ear and pulls at it. “Talk proper or you’re sleeping on the balcony.”

“You don’t have a balcony.”

“I know.”

Dean winces and sits up, making room on the couch for Jess to take up one side while Sam is mysteriously gone. The light is on down the hall in what will be his bedroom for however long he stays this time, so he’s probably doing something with his laptop. They’ve got a sofa bed crammed in there with two desks and a bookcase overflowing with their nerd books that make Dean fall asleep just from reading their titles.

“You have two choices right now.” Jess sits with her feet on the couch, knees folded to her chest and arms crossed over them. “Tell us everything that happened right now, or tell us tomorrow after you get a good night’s sleep. You did a straight shot from Cas’s place, didn’t you?”

He nods before dropping his head against the back of the couch and stretching his legs out toward the TV. “It was a boring ass drive and I fucked up again when I was saying bye to him.”

Sam can apparently hear him and he shouts from down the hall. “Oh God, what did you do this time?”

Maybe he’ll actually be able to sleep tonight if he gets everything off his chest right now. Dean takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and pretends that he’s alone. Talking about stuff like this – feelings and relationships and all this bullshit he hasn’t had to deal with in years – is hard on him. It’s so much easier when he’s drunk, but he’s pretty sure Jess vetoes booze in the apartment during school season and he’s too tired to make the three block walk to the convenience store to get the shitty beer they sell there.

Without the alcohol in his system, it’s definitely harder to talk. The words don’t come as easily or as honestly, but as long as he keeps pretending that no one is listening and he’s alone in the room, it’s at least coming out. Jess doesn’t interrupt and neither does Sam when he slinks back into the room and takes up a perch on something else – probably the bean bag chair in the corner because there’s no way they’d all fit on the couch together.

By the time he’s done, his throat hurts and he does feel slightly lighter for pulling the emotional equivalent of a trash dump. Actually, he’s pretty tired now and could probably fall asleep just like this. But Dean knows that’s an impossibility because Sam and Jess are the king and queen of _feelings_ and they’re going to want to talk all about this and analyze every little thing that happened this week so they can divine some magical answer that will confirm Cas is head over heels with him too – or whatever the hell it is that they do.

Jess, apparently, has other plans. She leans across the couch and pats him on the arm. “Go get some sleep. We’ll talk about this in the morning if you want to.”

Maybe she’s just developed mutant mental powers since the last time he saw her. That wouldn’t surprise him in the least. She’s kind of awesome like that.

“If you want, you can go take a hot shower first. When’s the last time you had one?”

“The morning I left Bobby’s.” Dean shrugs, heaving himself to his feet and shedding his over shirt in the same movement. He tosses that on his pile of stuff. “Can I just leave this here and I’ll do my laundry in the morning?”

Sam scrambles up out of the bean bag chair – score one for Dean – and gestures toward the hall. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. You can borrow some of my pajamas.”

“Thanks.” He stops at the linen closet for a towel and ducks into the bathroom.

The sofa bed will probably be pulled out and all made up by the time he’s out of the shower and he’d bet good money that Sam will have laid the clothes out on the bed like a doting mother. It’s kind of funny how that used to be what Dean did for him when they were growing up – making sure that Sam’s clothes were ready for him in the morning so he wouldn’t be late for school, making sure he was fed and his homework was done before bed. It’s kind of refreshing to be on the other end of that.

Maybe he’ll wake up earlier than them and whip up some pancakes or something as a thank you for letting him crash here whenever he hits town. Jess never complains and if she did, it wouldn’t be behind his back and in whispered arguments with Sam. It would be to his face with a glare that, if she was a mutant, would probably melt his face off.

Sure enough, after his shower, the guest room looks exactly like he expected it to. The other bedroom door is shut and he shouts a ‘good night’ and a ‘thank you’ at it before retiring for the night. It still takes him a while to fall asleep. The blanket isn’t heavy enough – duh, it’s not a wing – and his back is cold. When he rolls onto his back, his side is cold. It’s an endless cycle and he tosses and turns until he grabs the pulls one of the two pillows to his chest and tucks his face against it. Of course it doesn’t smell like Cas and it doesn’t hug back, but Dean’s used to that. This last week was the first in literal _months_ since he’s shared a bed with anyone and how the hell could he get addicted to it so fast?

Fuck.

With how long it takes him to fall asleep, Dean definitely doesn’t wake up before Sam and Jess. They’re both sitting at the little table against the wall of their kitchen and there’s a covered plate on the counter for him when he slouches into the room. He mumbles a thank you and eats with his hip against the counter. They don’t have a third chair and it wouldn’t fit in the kitchen even if they did. Halfway through his plate of bacon and eggs, a realization hits him.

“Did you seriously only ask for a picture of Cas to decide what _pet_ you get?”

Sam snorts a laugh into his glass of orange juice and Jess twists in her seat to grin at him. “The bet came _after_ we asked for the photo. We just wanted to see what your bride-to-be looked like.”

He frowns at them, chewing his way through a piece of bacon before asking his next question. “So you believe me from the start when I said Cas was an Angel?”

“That’s not something you would joke about that. Not with us.” She waves her hand over her shoulder and turns back to her plate.

“You’re both bastards.” Dean grumbles around a mouthful of eggs, polishing off his plate before he talks to them again. “How come you’re not going all geek squad on me now? I know stuff about Angels that I thought you two would kill for.”

The look on Sam’s face is trapped somewhere between desperate and pained. Jess shrugs, but their table isn’t big enough to hide her kicking Sam in the shin. “Angels as a whole are extremely secretive. Whatever Humans have been allowed into their inner circles don’t share what they know. I figure if Cas is okay with you telling us stuff, you’d have told us already.”

“Or hold it ransom to get all sorts of things out of us.”

“Like those pictures of Jess as Princess Leia?”

She turns an icy glare on him. “I have never dressed up as Princess Leia.”

“Not outside of the bedroom.” Dean waggles his eyebrows at her and laughs when she kicks Sam under the table. It’s complete bullshit, he knows, but it’s kind of fun to pit them at each other. He gives his dish a quick wash down before dumping it in the sink and ducking out into the living room. “Consider that payback for the underhanded way of getting a picture of Cas!”

“Does that mean you _don’t_ a printed version for your wallet since I copied it off your phone last night?” Sam shouts back and Dean stops mid-stoop for his bag.

Damn Sam, _damn him_. He trawls his brain for anything Cas told him way back when they first met – something that was okay to tell a hunter long before he ever started to trust him. With his backpack hooked over his shoulder and his duffle in his hand, he leans back into the kitchen. “They call the Earth – Caosgi. It’s like their deity or some shit.”

Jess makes a noise that sounds an awful lot like a squeal and Dean chooses then to clear out. Hopefully by the time he’s back from filling as many washing machines as needed, their little geek out will be over and done with. The last thing he needs is Sam cornering him with his gigantic body and try to find out _more_ – but Dean doesn’t know what else he’s allowed to give.

It’s not like he and Cas really talked about what he should and should not tell Sam and Jess. Far as he can remember, Cas just trusted him implicitly not to say anything he wasn’t supposed to. While he’s doing his laundry, he makes a mental list of it all – everything that took Cas forever to tell him. Stuff like the Hamiamma and their origins, and all the things about Cas’s markings and pretty much anything to do with the clan.

By the time his bags are empty and the washing machine is chugging away, Dean realizes he didn’t green light anything else about Angels. Not even about what kind of powers Cas has, not the name of the couch or his house or any other Enochian words that don’t mean shit to anyone. He’s not even sure why. Is it because he wants to protect Cas or because he’s selfish and greedy and wants to keep it all to himself like some kind of giant a secret – something he’s never really kept from Sam.

Luckily, neither of them ask him for more. Not for the rest of the day, or the rest of the week. Dean wastes his time catching up on all the Dr. Sexy episodes he hasn’t seen in a month since Bobby refuses to get the extended cable package to include the channels it’s on. Jess watches with him while Sam rolls his eyes at the both of them.

Sometimes Dean sits with his hand in the pockets of his hoodie, hand wrapped around his cell phone. He thinks about calling Cas, but the doesn’t. What the hell would he say? Sorry for kissing you, but I’m pretty sure I was just testing the water to see if you’d be okay with me kissing you properly so I could tell you I’m kinda smitten with you. Fuck no, that’s the last thing he should say. Especially after what Cas said. Which is maybe the whole damn reason he’s a little scared to talk to him again.

It spends a week finding stupid little things to make himself busy – like hand washing the car and chauffeuring Sam and Jess around town to get all the things they can’t usually get since their car broke down. Anything to put off calling Cas until he can figure out what the hell he’s going to say. Sam refuses to give him any advice beyond telling him to man up and just _talk_ and Jess strategically changes the subject whenever Dean so much as _looks_ at her.

Avoiding calling Cas is maybe why, when his phone actually rings with the customized tune Dean assigned to Cas’s number, he nearly drops the bowl of popcorn he just made for movie night. Jess and Sam both look up at him from the couch as he practically sprints through the living room, dropping the bowl in Sam’s lap as he ducks out of the apartment. If he’s going to talk with Cas, then he’s not going to do it where they can eaves drop. He’ll do it in the privacy of his car, or take a walk around the block, or something as long as it means they can’t listen in.

He opens the phone and answers the call when he sits down in the stairwell with his boots and jacket in his hands. It takes a second to compose himself. “Hey, Cas. How’re you?”

“Dean.” The way Cas says his name kinda sounds almost relieved and Dean stops lacing up his boots long enough to feel pretty shitty for not calling Cas this week. Cas trips over his words when he answers the question, like Dean being all buddy-buddy is throwing him off his game. “I’m – I’m well. And you?”

“Not bad, just been busy. Sorry for not calling. I meant to, but it was always really late every time I had the chance and I didn’t want to wake you.” It’s only half a lie, but it’s still enough for Dean to hate himself for it.

“Did you have any hunts on your way to Sam’s?”

He pulls on his jacket as he starts down the stairs again. “Nah, I just came straight here. I didn’t really feel like hunting and it was nice having a hot shower. You ever get to have one of those? You know what a shower is, right?”

Cas makes a little huffing noise and Dean can picture him rolling his eyes. It puts a smile on his lips as he leaves the building and beelines across the street for his car. “Yes, Dean. I am aware of what a ‘shower’ is. And unless you count standing under a waterfall as one, no I haven’t. At least not a hot one. I only have warm baths during the winter when I melt snow in a pot over the fire.”

“You say ‘bath’, but I didn’t see a tub there. Do you grow one out of trees or something?”

“I bathe myself with a cloth dipped in the water. Is it incorrect to call that a bath?”

Dean stumbles over the curb, distracted by the sudden mental image of Cas stripped down and kneeling naked in the middle of his house, rubbing himself down with a dripping cloth – _fuck_. He’d kind of hoped getting away from Cas would help him _not_ have inappropriate thoughts throughout the day. But he does tuck that little fantasy away to be better examined and built on later – maybe tomorrow morning when he’s taking a shower.

It takes a hell of a lot to keep himself from stuttering as he tries to steady himself again. “Nah, man. That’s called a sponge bath or something. I never really thought about how you do that during the winter, I guess – not when we kinda did that last week.”

“Yes. We bathed so we wouldn’t go to bed smelling like we did.”

“You saying I stink, Cas?” Dean nearly laughs as he slides into the passenger seat. There’s no point in getting behind the wheel if he’s not going to be driving and it gives him more leg room.

“Of course not.”

Now he does laugh. Cas sounds so insulted that he would even suggest that’s what he meant, it cracks Dean up and for the rest of the conversation he can’t remember why he was putting off calling him. Cas tells him all about how he’s managing almost half a mat a day because he wakes up early and weaves all damn day until he goes to bed late. And he’s stretching and practicing all the training patterns he used to know so he won’t be completely off his game when he goes back.

Dean puts the seat back, staring at the ceiling as he listens to Cas talk, asking questions now and then to keep him going. He likes Cas's voice. It's addicting to listen to and, to be completely honest, he kind of misses it – misses _him_. Dammit, how is he so fucking _gone_ like this? And it's driving him crazy that he can't just _say_ everything that's sitting behind his sternum and makes it so hard to breathe sometimes when he stops and thinks about it.

Cas turns the conversation back to him, asks him about what he's been up to over the last week and how Sam and Jess are. Dean tells him anything he's told them about Angels – which so far is just a couple Enochian words. He even thanks Dean for keeping secret everything that should be. He's not expecting Cas to throw him a curve ball the moment there's a drop in the conversation.

“Did I upset you when you left?”

He sits up so fast he bangs his knee on the dash and bites his lip to keep from hissing in pain. “No, Cas. I wasn't upset. I was just –” He gropes for the word while he rubs his knee and sets the seat back upright. “I was embarrassed.”

“Why?” Cas sounds genuinely confused. “You explained yourself and I understood. It was only -” Dean doesn't like the way he hesitates. “It was an accident. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“What if it wasn’t an accident?” The words are out of his mouth before Dean can catch them and maybe that’s a good thing, maybe it’s finally time they talk about this. He scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath, listening to the silence on the line for a minute before filling it himself. “Are you surrounded by those damn peonies right now?”

There’s a sound like Cas just sucked in a breath. “I – yes. Peonies, and – and snowdrops, and there are a –” He stops and takes another breath that sounds a little shakier than Dean’s used to hearing from him. “And a few iris flowers.”

He digs his notebook out of the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls the pen from the spine, flipping to a blank page and scribbling down the names. He’d forgotten all about the flowers but now he’s got a few names and he can go the library or the book store tomorrow and get a book on flower meanings, maybe go to a flower shop and ask them to name the few he got pictures of last week if he can’t find a book that has pictures of the flowers. Of course, there’s always the internet.

“Answer my other question, Cas.” He might as well push for it while he’s got the balls to do it. “What if what happened wasn’t an accident? What if I did it on purpose?”

Dean hates it that Cas can even manage to sound that small. “I don’t understand.”

He pushes his hand into his hair before leaning his temple against the window. “Let’s do this hypothetically. _If_ it wasn’t an accident and it really was a goodbye kiss to the cheek, would you have been okay with that?”

“I –”

“Keep it simple.” If Cas gets all deep about it, Dean’s not sure if he’s going to walk away from this conversation knowing exactly what happened. “Yes or no, Cas.”

There’s another sharp little gasping noise before Cas damn near _whispers_ a ‘yes’ and Dean would punch the air if it didn’t risk hitting some part of his baby. He tries really hard not to make any kind of sounds that would show just how much he kind of wants to get out of the car and click his heels together or something because holy hell Cas says he’s okay with a kiss on the cheek. This is good. This is _really_ good.

Dean leans back in the seat again and grins up at the roof. “Good. That’s – yeah. That’s good.”

There’s so much more he could ask – like if Cas would be okay with a _real_ kiss, for example – but he kind of gets the feeling that this is already pushing the envelope. He’s opened the channels and planted some seeds and they can revisit this topic during the next phone call or when they see each other again. For now, it kind of sounds like Cas might be on the verge of hyperventilating and those little flowers are probably going haywire all over his house.

“Hey, so I found out why Sam and Jess wanted the picture.”

It takes Cas a moment to respond. “Wasn’t it to confirm that I am an Angel?”

“They believed me from the start. The bastards only asked for it because they wanted to see what you looked like. Y’know, since I talk about you so much and all – can’t really fault ‘em for getting curious.” He grins and tucks one arm behind his head. “Jess says you’re cute.”

“Thank you?”

The audible question mark makes Dean laugh. It comes so easy after a week of being on edge about what happened right before he left that it kind of feels really good. Dean spends the rest of the conversation trying to make Cas laugh – but most of his jokes involve pop culture or references Cas doesn’t get and every time they fall flat, Dean just laughs harder. At least that manages to get smiles big enough that Dean can actually hear them when Cas says anything.

By the time he gets back into the apartment, the movie is almost over and all he doesn’t even care. Dean shrugs and smiles when Sam looks at him and nearly whistles his way to the bathroom. Cas said _yes_ and Dean’s confidence – and courage – took a major leap forward today. Tomorrow he’s going to find out what all the flowers mean and that’s going to give him even more insight into Cas. All in all, this shaped up to be a damn decent day.

Sam comes with him the next afternoon with the piss poor excuse that he needs to get some book for some class project – yeah, Dean didn’t really listen. As soon as anything _schoolish_ comes out of anybody’s mouth, Dean tunes them out. He’s got his G.E.D. and that’s all he really needs – anything else can be learned as it comes.

“So, what’s this?” Sam gestures down at the bundle that vaguely resembles a bunched up t-shirt sitting on the seat between them. “Do I want to know?”

“It’s something I took from Cas’s place. Where’s the nearest flower shop?”

“Go another three blocks and turn right. Who are you getting flowers for?”

Dean snorts. The only person here he’d buy flowers for is Jess and that’s only if he fucked up monumentally and needed to apologize or something. Even then, that’s more Sam’s department than his. “I just need them to identify a few flowers for me.”

It gets him a curious look, but Sam doesn’t ask about it and Dean doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t told either of them about Cas’s powers and how they work or that he grows little flowers according to his feelings when he’s not being careful. It’s all part of the secret that makes Dean feel slightly special to know when Sam doesn’t, when Sam’s the one who’s devoted the last few years to studying about Angels and he doesn’t even know half the shit that Dean does.

The lady he talks to in the flower shop identifies the pictures on Dean’s phone as peonies – which Dean already knew – and gardenia. He vaguely remembers Cas naming those flowers, but he scribbles down the name in his notebook anyway, ignoring how Sam leans over his shoulder to look at it. Sam seems really interested when Dean puts the t-shirt on the counter and unfolds it, pulling out the wilted and kinda beat up popcorn-shaped flowers that Cas had stuck to the mat frame. He’d grabbed it when Cas’s back had been turned, tucked it away and hid it in his t-shirt after he’d washed his clothes. Maybe he should’ve stuck it in a glass of water or something, but he hadn’t wanted Sam or Jess asking about it.

“These are little degraded.” She taps the counter next to the flower, frowning down at it. “I think these actually grow on a coastal tree. I can’t remember the name though – something like Madonna.”

Sam has his phone out immediately, tapping away at it for a few minutes while the lady takes Dean’s phone to go show it to the other workers, trying to identify the one flower she doesn’t recognize from the pictures. He hands over the pen and slides over his notebook when Sam reaches for it, leaning it to watch him write out two words: Madrona (Arbutus).

“I’m sorry. We don’t know what this is.” The lady sighs, handing Dean his phone back. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, that’s it. Thanks.” Dean gives her one of his best smiles before they leave. Sam keeps typing on his phone all the way to the car and half way to the bookstore.

“I’m pretty sure that picture on your phone is coriander.” He announces, holding out his phone for Dean to see. “I recognized the leaves. It’s also known as cilantro, used as a seasoning.”

“Jesus, Sam. How the hell did you recognize _that_?” Dean still grins at him before looking back at the road. “You taking cooking classes or something?”

“We get our stuff from an organic store and Jess likes seasoning with it. Not everyone eats fast food and boxed meals, Dean.”

“For your information, smartass, Cas and I use more ‘ _organic_ ’ ingredients than you do. And I haven’t had a frozen dinner in months. I even restocked Bobby’s kitchen so I could actually cook every night. I make a damn mean hamburger, y’know.”

They’re in and out of the store in half the time Dean expected. Sure as shit, Sam doesn’t buy a damn thing but he’s grinning like the cat that caught the canary when he sees what book Dean buys. Dean has to sit on the book to keep Sam from trying to flip through it on the drive back to the apartment. If he tries to find out the meaning of the flowers before Dean does, he’s going to be pissed. If anyone is going to figure it out, it’s going to be _him_.

He locks Sam and Jess out of the guest room, keeping one of their laptops for himself in case he can’t find what he’s looking for in the book. Flipping through the book is annoying as hell, but Dean goes through his list – making a separate list for the flowers that aren’t in the book, or the ones that don’t give a clear enough meaning for his liking.

The madrona and coriander aren’t in the book, but Dean can’t help his smile when he finds that peonies mean shyness and he remembers all the times Cas blushed, those fist-sized pink beasts growing around him. Snowdrops gets another smile – _hope_. That’s a nice one. The problem with this is that he didn’t write down what had happened to make Cas grow the flowers and even if he can picture the moments, he can’t remember what was said that got the reaction.

He keeps flipping, finding that iris basically boils down to ‘good news’. Daisies doesn’t go into detail about what the different colours mean and he’s not entirely sure if the meaning the book has applies, but he writes it down anyways and adds it to his internet search list. Poppy goes on that list too.

Reading the meanings for gardenia and daffodils ratchets Dean’s heart rate up a few dozen notches or so and it suddenly feels _way_ too warm in the room. The exact meanings are more or less lost to him because one word jumps up at him from both pages and it feels like it roundhouse kicks him in the face. _Love_. Gardenias and daffodils are somehow related to _love_ and sweet Jesus on a cracker he’s not sure he’s ready to process that just yet.

Dean slams the book shut and turns to the internet to look up the others. He ends up on a Wikipedia page that immediately makes him regret not turning to the internet sooner and saving himself twenty bucks. It’s got a table full of flowers and their meanings and a double checking of peonies, snow drops and irises proves it more or less right.

The online meaning for daffodils makes Dean frown. “Uncertainty, chivalry, respect – what the hell is –” He bites his tongue before he can finish, eyes skimming over the last two possibilities. Unrequited love. Holy _shit_. Gardenia gets the same reaction and he snorts at the first one. “‘You’re lovely.’ Really, Cas?” Then up pops ‘secret love’ and Dean forgets how to breathe.

Maybe he wasn’t as ready as he thought he was to find out what these flowers were saying. Dean rubs his hands over his face. Jesus, was Cas saying all this the whole time with flowers instead of words and Dean had no clue the entire fucking time? Stupid. They’re both so fucking _stupid_. He shakes his head and gets back to looking up the other flowers.

“Beauty unknown to possessor.” Dean rolls his eyes after reading the meaning for red daisies. “Okay, Cas, I get it. You think I’m a pretty, pretty princess.” He snorts and moves onto the next flower. “Poppies, poppies, poppies, where are you – there you are. ‘Pleasure’. Yeah, that makes sense.” They’re the flowers that grew on the beach while he was working Cas’s wings over. He trampled enough of them that he’s not likely to forget them any time soon.

Dean’s doing this backwards, working up the list instead of down. He finds the lilies next and nearly swallows his tongue at ‘desire’. Shit, when did he see the lilies – wasn’t that the morning he painted Cas’s markings? Yeah, orange lilies and – and a half dozen other flowers he can’t remember. He’s lucky enough that he scribbled down lilies later that day. But he remembers the coriander was there that morning too. And a crap ton of other times throughout the rest of the week.

He scrolls through the list to find that and he’s damn thankful he wasn’t drinking anything when he skims over the meaning, otherwise it might have ended up all over the screen and Sam would’ve had a lot of unkind words to share with him about that.

 _Lust_. Fucking _lust_. Desire and lust. Christ, Cas was – whenever these – _holy shit_. Man, Cas is scary good at hiding things physically. Dean sometimes picked up on some of this stuff, but there was enough doubt in the mix that he never really believed it. If he’d known about the damn flowers though – Christ, how different would things have been this week if he’d just remembered to get the damn book before going there? Get the book, probably have found this table too, and he’d have known and they could’ve –

Dean groans. Out of frustration or self-loathing, he’s really not sure which. He hits print so he can tuck this table into the book and carry it around with him. One glance at his list tells him he’s missing the flower Cas grew when they were talking about him taking a mate. What are the chances that a madrona tree would be on this list too? A quick scroll tells him they’re slim to none. But there’s that second word there that Sam left just for him and Dean scrolls up to the very top, searching out arbutus without really hoping it would be there.

He really needs to start having more faith in hope because it’s there and the meaning is like a punch to the chest. Six words. It’s six words and Dean can’t stop reading them over, and over, and over again – and it gets harder to breathe every time.

They’d been talking about _mates_. Cas said he didn’t want any of the Angels back at the clan and this flower – this one fucking flower – was telling him _why_.

“You’re the only one I love.” Dean breathes, voice catching on the last word as he rubs a hand across his mouth. “Jesus, _Cas_.”

x

The phone is heavy in his hand and Castiel is well aware that he’s been staring at it for far longer than he should. He spoke with Dean longer than anticipated and by all accounts he should have gone to bed nearly an hour ago. But he can bring himself to move, or to put the phone down on the little shelf he coaxed from wood under the window.

Good. It’s _good_ that, in a hypothetical situation, Castiel wouldn’t be bothered if Dean had kissed him like that on purpose. There’s so much hope filling his chest and Castiel wants to call him back, wants to ask why it’s good, why Dean asked the hypothetical question in the first place. But at the same time he’s terrified and that fear has him standing. He picks his way carefully through the flowers scattered around him and leaves the phone on its shelf.

He’d rather have hope than have Dean give him an answer that would crush it. And Castiel didn’t think it possible, but he is now looking forward to the next time he sees Dean even more than before. He attributes that to why there is a smile on his face as he tucks into his nest. The pillow he’s using – Dean’s – is quickly losing its scent. It barely smells like him anymore. But the sleeping bag, unzipped into a full blanket and pulled up as high as he can get it without being uncomfortable, still carries it – as does parts of the nest. Having that around him has been extremely comforting every night since Dean left. It’s made it easier for Castiel to sleep, despite how aware he is of the empty space next to him – a space that never bothered him before.

With his devotion to weaving as many mats as possible in the short time that he has, Castiel’s days meld together and the month before Uriel’s arrival to collect him passes faster than he would have liked. Every day is a repeat of the last. He wakes with the sun, stretches and eats a quick breakfast, before weaving until he stops for lunch – a meal mostly consisting of the sandwiches Dean taught him to make. It’s something he can eat while he walks and he takes it with him while walking to the lake for a bath or scouting the area to ensure there is nothing wrong with the forest or the animals.

His break for lunch never lasts longer than an hour before he returns to his salman to weave straight until supper. After supper, he usually goes through his things and organizes what he will take with him back to the clan and what will remain here in storage. He speaks with Dean every other day, often while he’s sorting his things and finding places for everything in the cave.

Every call he’s had with Dean since the first has been very confusing for him. Even though Dean left to start hunting less than a week after their call, he always sounds exceedingly happy when they talk. Regardless of whether the hunt went well or he was hurt or someone died, Dean’s smile is audible and bright even through the phone – to the point that Castiel can’t help but have one of his own.

When asked why he’s happy, Dean only ever says one thing. “Because I’m drunk on ambrosia.”

Admittedly, that never makes sense to Castiel even if he thinks of it in all the different definitions each word could have. How could Dean be drunk on a food or drink that, by all rights, shouldn’t exist on this plane of reality? Unless he’s drunk on a wine made of the ambrosia flower, which again doesn’t make sense. Why would Dean constantly be drinking that?

It’s something that confuses him right up until the day Silvanus arrives – which is the day before Uriel is scheduled to. After that, Castiel doesn’t have the time to dwell on it. He repaints his markings in the morning, hesitating before he expands upon the ones along his collarbone, spreading them closer to his shoulders like a second set of wings – the mark of his previous status.

Castiel finishes the last of his mats while the dye tries and adds it to the walls to help insulate the salman even though he won’t be here. Most everything he owns has been stored in the cave aside from the things he’ll be needing at the training camp – like a tent and bedding, a few changes of clothes (including his winter wear), food and various utensils and one of the frames for his mats so he can continue to make those throughout training. He plans to keep the phone with him at all times. There’s no guarantee that it would be safe in his tent and he’s loathe to risk losing it.

Before sleeping that night, he phones Dean. Castiel doesn’t know when they’ll get to talk again, but he’s relieved when Dean tells him to call any chance he gets. “I’ll answer, night or day. I promise.” This conversation doesn’t last as long as Castiel would like it too. He has an early morning ahead of him and he regrets having to end it.

When the morning of Uriel’s arrival comes, Castiel is awake before the sun. Silvanus has guarded his things through the night and watches from the opening above the entrance as Castiel takes apart the last of his nest. Dean’s things get put away in the cave and Castiel doesn’t care if his hand lingers after he places the folded pillow and blanket on top of the cooler. They’ve been a comfort to him at night over the last month and he’ll miss them almost as much as he misses Dean.

He rolls the covers down over all the openings, taking the time to smear what remains of his wing oil over all of them. The scent will keep animals away and it’s how he keeps the leather waterproof. He cleans his hands with his wings and shifts uncomfortably. Instead of wearing his wrap, today Castiel is wearing the leggings and open-backed tunic of a warrior. It’s been a long time since he wore it last, but it’s still in good condition and it fits almost as good as it once did.

 **I’ll watch your home like I watch the forest, Qaal.** Silvanus nods firmly as he turns his head to look at him while Castiel carefully starts tying everything onto his back. The sun is climbing quickly and Uriel will be here soon. **No harm will come to it.**

“Thank you.” Castiel smiles and runs his hand against the bark of his snout. “And if, for whatever reason, Dean shows up while I’m gone – please don’t give him a hard time. He’s told me before that visiting me is like a vacation from the rest of his life and if he needs to get away from everything even though I’m not here, let him have that.”

Silvanus snorts and shakes his head, red leaves rustling. **I have been on my best behavior and will continue to do so. I didn’t even interrupt during his last visit.** He nudges Castiel’s hip with his nose, eyes bright and shrewd. **Even the forest knows that he is precious to you and if he makes you happy, Qaal, than I am happy.**

Castiel hugs him, pressing his face into the soft vines that form Silvanus’s neck. “Thank you.”

They wait together in a comfortable silence until Uriel arrives with Hester and Rachel. They look weary and Castiel wonders if they’ve gone home at all since they were last here. Few words are exchanged between them before Castiel takes flight. It’s quite the distance to the northern valleys where the clan lives. Silvanus can run to it in a day, but he doesn’t need to stop and rest like they do.

After two days of near constant flying – stopping only to eat, sleep, or relieve themselves – they reach the valley. The change in temperature is noticeable and Castiel is surprised that he forgot how quickly it gets cold toward the end of the year in the north. The forest is so thick where it borders the valley that Silvanus has to practically climb through the trees to reach the groups of clearings where Castiel’s clan builds their homes during the summers.

As they fly over the clearings, Castiel can already see some families taking apart their homes. By land it’s a day’s journey up the sides of the valley to the caves where they’ll be spending the winter. With most of the warriors heading to the training camps, it will be easier for everyone else to defend themselves within the safety of the caves. Instead of landing there – something Castiel is grateful for – they continue deeper into the valley toward the hidden lakes where their training grounds reside.

It’s nothing more than a clearing along the edge of the lake with tents lining the edge of the trees. When the training starts, Hamiaah with powers like his own will stretch their abilities to the limit to grow obstacles to run and fly through. There will be ground and aerial combat maneuvers to practice, scrimmages to hold, and so many people – so many eyes and faces and voices – that it makes Castiel dizzy just thinking about it.

The entire training camp seems to stop when Castiel lands with the others. Hamiaah come out of the tents to look and for a moment he feels extremely self conscious. They’re staring at him and it’s making him uncomfortable to be under the eyes of so many. What do they expect of him? What do they think of his status being restored and the fresh marks under the corresponding symbols stitched into his outfit? Do they agree with Raphael’s decision or do they hate it? There has to be _some_ standing here now who believe that it’s foolishness to bring him back for war – especially when his black wings are often considered to be bad luck.

Rachel drops her hand on his shoulder and turns his toward the edge of the clearing where Silvanus is waiting. “You should set up your tent before it gets dark. Iaidon himself will be coming in the morning to address us before training begins.”

“Thank you.” Castiel nods at her and walks away.

He keeps his expression neutral as he crosses the clearing to where Silvanus is waiting for him. It's an effort, not to be effected by the hushed whispers and furtive glances of the others. If, by accident, he meets anyone's eyes, Castiel nods in greeting. He's thankful that Silvanus is waiting for him so far from everyone else. It gives him an excuse to set up his own tent farther away. No one is outwardly hostile as of yet, and they don't show any signs of disgust, but Castiel can sense it hidden under everything.

Silvanus doesn't say anything, but his leaves rustle and his tail lashes with disquiet as he watches the camp return to their duties while Castiel starts undoing the bundles tied to his sides. He pats the ribbed branches of his side. “Don't worry about them. I'm used to it.”

**Does that mean I have to like it?**

The closest thing to a laugh he's likely to have while here passes his lips and Castiel shakes his head. “No. Just because I'm used to it, doesn't mean I like it any more than you do.”

 **Good.** He huffs and settles on his stomach, paws crossing. **How long am I allowed to stay?**

“If I were you, I would be gone by morning – before Iaidon arrives. Your presence is as disruptive to them as mine, though I think they like you better.”

Silvanus huffs again, twisting his tail to brush against Castiel's wing. **The loud one is coming.**

Castiel turns around. Striding across the clearing without a care for the looks the other warriors give him is Balthazar. His head is held high and his white wings tucked tight to his back. The moment he notices that Castiel is looking, he raises his hand in a small wave and smiles. “Cassie!”

 **It looks like you still have at least one friend here, Qaal.** Silvanus grumbles a purr, his pleasure tingling lightly through the bond they share. He pats his side before leaving it to greet Balthazar.

They clasp each other’s forearms, squeezing tightly. “It's good to have you back.” Balthazar smiles again, his wings loosening and shifting against his back. “I'm so sorry about –”

“You never apologized for anything before, Balthazar. Don't start now.” Castiel smiles, tilting his head and regarding his friend. It hasn't been more than two months since they saw each other last, but this is the first time in fifty years that they can speak freely without risking Balthazar's status. The ease in how he holds himself now with no restrictions on their communication is obvious. “It's good to finally get to _talk_ to you again.”

“If I could've gotten away with it over the last fifty years, I would have. You know that, don't you?”

“Of course I do. And I appreciate it. You were the only one willing to help me when no one else would.” Castiel reaches out and touches his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Balthazar copies his motion and squeezes his shoulder. “Thank _you_ , Cassie. Now, are you going to set up all the way over here? I set up a little ways from the others and I saved you a spot by my tent. If you want it.”

He stoops to pick up the few things he managed to remove from the harnesses on Silvanus. “I would like that. Thank you.” Another smile comes to Castiel's lips – surprising him since he certainly didn't expect to have so many or so soon – when Balthazar takes one of them and leads them both across the clearing to his own tent. It's much closer to the others than Castiel had been planning on putting his, but it's still far enough that he won't immediately be subject to everyone. After decades alone, he thinks it will take him some time to adjust to the presence of so many people again.

With Balthazar's help, Castiel's tent is unpacked and set up in record time. There's already a small fire pit dug out and lined with rocks just in front of their tents, a small fire flickering at its center. Castiel shares his food with Balthazar as thanks for his assistance and even after the sun has set, they sit around the fire and talk while Silvanus walks along the lake edge. He's happy to listen to everything that he's missed, paying rapt attention as Balthazar details how he basically retired from being a warrior when Castiel left. Since then, he's been managing an import-export business with what few Human contacts their clan has.

“I only came back as a warrior when I heard that you were being asked to come back, status and all.” Balthazar grins at him from over the fire. “I never enjoyed having to fight unless it was under your command.”

“That's because no one else would cover for you as well as I could. You could get away with slacking.”

He laughs, feathers fanning in amusement. “Oh, Cassie. I've almost forgotten how very blunt you could be. It's good to have you back.”

Castiel ducks his head to hide how small his smile is, looking down at the cup of tea in his hands. There are some things he shouldn't say right now, but he'd rather that Balthazar hear them from him instead of through rumour. “I don't know if I'll be staying.”

“What? Why not?” Balthazar drops his voice to a whisper and leans in. “Is it because of the others? They'll come around soon enough, Cassie. Don't worry. Stupid superstition won't hold out for long once they see what a great warrior you are.”

He shakes his head and looks away out at the lake and the full moon reflected on its surface. “That's may be part of the reason, but I don't think I can live around people anymore. I'm too used to my solitude. You forget that if you include child hood, then the majority of my life has been lived away from the clan.”

“But you like us, don't you? You wouldn't be back if you didn't.”

“I'm back because I'm still loyal to the clan, and Lucifer and the Hamiamma are a threat to us all. If I can help, then I will. But when all is said and done, I don't believe I want to live here and be surrounded by people who are able to turn me out because of the colour of my wings the moment they get the chance.” Castiel fans his wings out on either side, the black feathers tinted red in the firelight. “At most, I would visit more often and come back whenever I am called upon.”

Castiel can feel Balthazar's eyes on him. He doesn't look until he asks a question that has him turning back sharply. “Is it because of your Human?”

“How do you –?”

“Hester sent back a report after they visited you. The news spread quickly that she mentioned there was a Human living with you – even that you shared your nest with him.” Balthazar tilts his head, eyes calculating. “If you're worried of what I might think, you have to know you're not the first Hamiaah that's taken a Human mate – or even a mate of the same gender. I'm not going to judge, Cassie.”

His wings pull tight to his back, curving slightly over his shoulders, and it's only Castiel's focus that keeps the peonies from growing around him again. He looks back down at his tea, knuckles white around its clay sides. “Dean and I aren't like that. He only slept in my nest that night because it was the only place for him to be comfortable and safe.”

Balthazar always was more perceptive than most gave him credit for. “I've never known you to share your bed.”

“He was the first.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I told you, Dean and I aren't like that. We're just friends.”

“You sound far too bitter about that to be ' _just friends'_ , my dear.”

Castiel snaps one wing out in warning, narrowly missing catching Balthazar with it. He stands it folds against his back again and dumps the rest of his tea into the grass. “It's late. The others have already turned in.”

He still doesn't like the look Balthazar gives him. It's far too _knowing_ and he turns from it, ducking into his tent and letting the flap fall shut behind him. If someone who barely knows anything about his relationship with Dean can see his desires so clearly – who else can see it too? Silvanus's heavy footfalls precedes his arrival and Castiel smiles at the familiar growl.

“Alright, alright. I'm going!” Balthazar huffs and Castiel strains to hear the rustle of the blanket having over the entrance to his own tent.

 **Sleep well, Qaal.** Silvanus speaks through the tent wall as he lays down outside. **I will wake you before I leave in the morning.**

“Good night.” He calls out to both him and Balthazar. The tent is much more confining than he's used to, but it's better than the chill night. Cold may not bother him as much as it would a Human, but that doesn't mean that Castiel likes it – though it's much more bearable when Dean is next to him, sleep-warm with his steady breathing and rhythmic heartbeat.

Castiel unties the pouch holding his phone from the pouch around his waist. He tucks it carefully into the cloth sack holding the rest of his clothes. Dean had showed him how to turn off the ringer so it wouldn't make a noise if anyone called it. He falls asleep wondering how Dean's current hunt is going. It sounded like nothing more than a spirit, and Dean has already handled a few of those since he left Sam's home.

Silvanus leaves in the morning mere minutes before Raphael lands in the clearing and everyone forms ranks. Castiel feels oddly exposed, standing in the front line next to Uriel. It's the same place he always stood, but it feels wrong – almost unnatural. Raphael's speech is short and to the point. He explains why they've been gathered and what is expected of them. As Castiel suspected, all mirlonsa (those with the same abilities as Castiel) are required to assist with setting up the course.

The only thing that surprises him is that Raphael wants orrilonsa (those with the power to control earth and stone) to help with the ground course. It will strain Castiel to grow so much this morning, but with the added assistance of so many others, he's sure he won't be too tired afterward. At least they'll be given a reprieve and they won't have to run the course until tomorrow.

“There is one last thing before your training begins.” Raphael announces, his grayed wings spreading wide to keep everyone's attention. Castiel didn't think it possible, but his expression grows even more severe. “A few days ago we received word from Gabriel's clan across the eastern sea. Lucifer has struck and Gabriel is dead. Raziel's clan far south of them is accepting all refugees. This is no longer speculation. Lucifer is striking across the sea and it is only a matter of time before he comes here. Let's not give him that chance. We are at war and _everyone_ –” Castiel doesn't miss how his eyes turn to him. “– will do their part.”

To their credit, the warriors don't immediately start talking after Raphael finishes. They don't even start talking when he turns and takes wing, soaring away from the training grounds. It's like a shock has settled amongst them. Gabriel's clan was one of the strongest – one of the biggest. Castiel had been stationed there once. He'd met Gabriel and so many others and now there's every chance that each one of them is dead. It's a sobering, horrifying fact of war – one he did not miss.

None of the other commanders seems willing to step forward to order their divisions to begin. Castiel could either stand and wait for someone else to issues the command, or he could do it himself. That need to prove himself is pulling tight in his gut again and they may think him heartless for this, but it needs to be done. If Lucifer is already acting, then there is nothing else for them to do than prepare. The sooner they're ready, the sooner they can assist their sister clans across the sea.

He turns to Uriel and issues the command for him to spread the word that all mirlonsa and orrilonsa should follow him to start the course. While Uriel carries out his order, Castiel finds another of the commanders and nicely suggests that while the course is being built the others should stretch and be taking through strike patterns. Depending how long it takes, he also suggests that they spar.

Castiel doesn't bother waiting their reactions. He starts across the wide clearing toward the edge of the lake. It's a harrowing morning of making sure everyone knows just what the aerial course is supposed to look like and expending extensive amounts of his energy to grow it. Putting someone else in charge of deciding the ground course was likely his best idea of the day.

By nightfall, Castiel is exhausted. He barely stays awake long enough to eat the supper that Balthazar prepared over their shared fire – for which he is immensely grateful. The next day marks the actual beginning of his training. Unsurprisingly, his reflexes are slower than they once were and he's not as fast as he had been before his exile. Every evening he returns to his aching, his wings heavy against his back. He's even too exhausted to miss sleeping beside Dean.

“You shouldn't push yourself so hard.” Balthazar says at the end of their first week of training. They're sitting together by the fire again after finishing dinner and Castiel is trying to focus on another mat he started the other day. “You're doing twice as much work as anyone here and you're doing that stupid weaving again. What's the point of it all?”

“It helps me to relax. And I have twice as much to prove.” Castiel responds without hesitation, his hands continuing to move along the mat. “Haven't you noticed yet?”

He doesn't answer, face tilted toward the fire. Clearly he has. Even though the other warriors listen to Castiel, it's purely because of his status. Few of them talk to him like Balthazar does. No one has gone out of their way to simply have a conversation – everything is always about training and it's never personal. He's a commanding officer to them and nothing more. They don't want to get close, they don't want to be his friend. Nothing has changed and Castiel hates it.

“You're going to wear yourself out working as hard as you do.” Balthazar sighs, standing and slapping at his leggings to knock the dirt from them. “What good are you going to be to anyone if you kill yourself while trying to prove that you're better than everyone else?”

“I don't want to be better than them.”

“What _do_ you want, Cassie?”

“Acceptance.”

It's something he has strived for every day that he's lived with the clan and no matter how hard he works, no matter the rank or status he's given, he's barely gotten that from anyone. It's frustrating and it hurts and he tells it all to Dean on the one day a week that he's able to talk to him. Once a week the training camp breaks to return to the rest of the clan to get provisions and visit their families. Each time, Castiel hangs back. He's always the last to leave and he walks most of the way instead of flying – using that time to phone Dean.

The conversations are never as long as he'd like them to be. But it does boost his spirits and it carries him through another week. Those conversations are what he looks forward to the most and they are a better reprieve from the training than any sleep or time spent with Balthazar. It's like talking with Dean, hearing the smile in his voice and just listening to him talk about his hunts and his search for his father, is enough to lighten his spirits.

It's late into the second month of his training, less than thirty days until the mating season, when Castiel finds his resolve to stay weakening. There's only so much of their forced politeness that he can take and he's fast approaching that threshold. He crouches between the roots of a tree half way between the training fields and the clan caves. The weather is quickly getting cold and the colds have been threatening snow for days. He's been wearing boots for weeks and soon he'll have to take out his mabza – his winter coat. And he never likes wearing that. It's too heavy between his wings and he can't fly well with it on.

“I want to go back home.” Castiel sighs, resting his forehead against his knees and folding his wings around himself to block out the world. “Everything was so much more simple there.”

“Then go home.” Dean says it so simply that Castiel almost wants to laugh. “You're only there out of loyalty, right? If they're not appreciating your efforts, then kick them to the curb and clear on out.”

“If I did that, I would lose my status again.”

“You did just fine for fifty years without it.”

“I wouldn't be allowed to return – even for the clan gatherings. Raphael isn't very nice, Dean. If I abandon my post because of my own weakness, he'll banish me completely.”

Dean sighs and there's a shuffling sound in the background. “Cas, it's not weakness to want to be treated like a person. I don't know what to tell you. Stay, don't stay – all I want is you to be happy and it doesn't sound like that Balthazar guy is doing a good job of keeping you smiling.”

“He's doing the best that he can, but we only really see each other when we break for meals.” Castiel turns his hand to touch his feathers, raking his fingers through them and wishing they were Dean's.

“Yeah, well, don't go falling for him. You might make me jealous.” Dean’s laugh sounds a little strained, like his joke isn’t as funny as he’s trying to make it seem, but it still makes Castiel feel like his ribs are squeezing together, pinching his lungs and making it hard to breathe.

Why would Dean even think that necessary to mention? It's worded too specifically to be a joke and Castiel doesn't need to look to know that snow drops are blooming in the space between the roots around him. Those have been growing more and more during his talks with Dean. The more hope he has, the more Castiel wants to ask the questions that gather on the back of his tongue.

“I told you.” He murmurs, fingers curling in his feathers. “I don't want anyone here.”

“Their loss.” Dean answers, his voice going soft. “Hey, how long before you're going to go home again? If it's going to be the only chance I'm going to have to see you for a while, I want to make sure that I don't make any other plans or something stupid like that.”

Castiel licks his lips and lifts his head. “Less than a month.”

“Can you call me when you head back and I'll meet you there or something?”

“It's very difficult to predict that far ahead, Dean.”

He doesn't want to tell him that starting on the day of the winter solstice is the mating season, or that he shouldn't come visit during those ten days. Castiel doesn't even want to think about what he might do if Dean was around during that time. His control would be stretched to its maximum and the last thing he wants to do is something that would make Dean uncomfortable. And he won't have to return to the clan immediately afterwards. Maybe he could have Dean visit after? He won't be able to leave here any sooner than it starts.

“Well, just keep me in the loop, okay? I –” Dean stops and clears his throat. “I miss hanging out with you.”

A warm feeling floods under Castiel's skin, an entirely different sensation than the heat that will be overtaking him in a month's time. This goes to the core of him, burning even through his wings and settling hot in his chest. Even the smile he graces to the shadowed confines of his wings feels different than usual. It feels foreign and familiar and Castiel can feel delphinium growing among the snowdrops. That _happiness_ could surprise him like this is – he's not sure what to think of it.

“I miss you too, Dean.”

x

Dean finds a Christmas gift for Cas by accident. He’s currently on vacation right now – taking his winter holiday a little earlier than usual since Sam and Jess are planning on spending Christmas with Jess’s parents at their winter home in some place with a repeating name that Dean didn’t bother really learning. All he needs to know is that they’re going someplace warmer than California and they’re ditching his ass here.

Bobby is planning on spending Christmas drinking it up with a few old hunting buddies and he totally understands that Dean’s more interested in freezing his ass off in a tree-hut in the middle of nowhere than he is drinking with a bunch of guys he doesn’t know. He _especially_ understands since Sam went and opened his big mouth and told everyone in their little circle (meaning only Bobby) that Cas is just as gaga for him as he is for Cas.

Which is exactly the reason why Dean is currently out shopping with Sam.  “I dunno about you, but I’m pretty sure Jess isn’t a hippy.”

“This isn’t a hippy store, Dean.”

He pulls a shirt off one of the racks he’s standing by and gestures at the big ass yellow sticker on it that declares it to be made one hundred percent out of hemp. “I don’t think they sell these outside of hippy stores, dude.”

Sam rolls his eyes and takes the shirt, hanging it back on the rack. “It’s not a hippy store. Jess just wants some of their all-natural products. It’s healthier or something, I don’t know. Like you’re one to talk.” He tosses Dean an all too familiar bottle from the shelf he passes. “Don’t think I haven’t seen inside your travel pack. Since when did you get so nature conscious, huh?”

“Since Cas lectured me for three hours about washing shampoo out of my hair in the lake and all the harmful chemicals it had. I never want to have to sit through that again and it’s just easier to buy this crap and make Cas happy.”

“Then maybe you can find something for Cas here.” He gestures around the store. “It’s all natural and environment friendly stuff, so it’s probably right up his alley. Have you even got him something for Christmas yet?”

Dean tucks the bottle back on the shelf and shoves his hands in his pockets, glancing around at the racks of clothes and shelves of junk on the walls. “I don’t think he celebrates the holidays. And you know exactly what I’m going to do the next time I see him.” He gives Sam his most charming smile, eyebrow wiggling and all. “Aren’t I the best gift of all?”

“Please don’t. We just ate.” He covers his mouth and fake dry heaves a few times before they both dissolve into a very manly set of giggles that takes them a decent while to work through. Sam’s the first to recover. “C’mon, I’ve got an exam tomorrow and studying to do. Let’s just find this stuff and go.”

“Yeah, yeah. You go find your stuff. I’ll wait right here.”

Waiting entails idly browsing through a rack of ponchos. Seriously. _Ponchos_. Dean wasn’t aware they sold these outside of South America. There’s a bunch in ridiculous colours that Dean would expect to see on clowns, a few in more neutral colours, and one that kinda makes him stop and stare at it. There’s nothing really special about this poncho – it’s kinda tan, with a fringe along the edges and one zigzag going around it before curving up the front and around the collar in almost a lapel kinda shape. The collar is ringed in blue, matching the cord that knots at the front and kind of hangs down almost like a tie. Maybe it’s that blue cord that catches his attention. Whatever reason, it’s definitely not because it kind of reminds him of Cas’s eyes.

But the more he looks at the poncho, the more Dean thinks about just how perfect a poncho is for an Angel. It’s not like Cas can really wear a proper shirt during the winter or something, and he’s complained more than once over their last few phone calls about his parka and how annoying it is. Since it started to snow up where he is, the training camp has apparently broken up and moved into the caves with the rest of the clan and they just go out every day to spar like the crazies that they are. Sometimes it’s cold enough in the cave itself – at least where Cas has taken up camp – that he has to wear the parka while he’s inside too.

So if Cas has such a problem with his parka, imagine how perfect a poncho would be? The label says it’s made with real alpaca wool or something and it feels super soft and it would probably be pretty warm – maybe even warm enough that Cas will only need for inside and then he can just wear his parka outside. Like a cozy sweater but for an Angel.

His phone rings while he’s paying for it. The ringtone says it all and Dean puts it to his ear without checking the call display. “Hey Cas, were your ears burning?”

“No, they are rather cold right now. Why would you they be burning?”

“Never mind. It’s just a saying. What’s up?”

“I can’t be long – they’re expecting me back soon.” Cas doesn’t sound too happy about that and Dean’s going to go right on believe it’s because Cas would rather talk to him then have to go back and deal with a bunch of people he doesn’t like. “I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be home not long after the winter solstice and I’ll be staying for a few weeks. If you could come ten days after the solstice then you could leave the same day that I do.”

Dean doesn’t have a damn clue when a ‘winter solstice’ might be, but he’s pretty sure Sam – or the internet – will be able to answer that question for him. “Sounds like a plan.” He turns and gives Sam a wide grin and a thumbs up. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

“Why would you – That’s another ‘saying’, isn’t it?”

“Lookit you, all _learning_ and stuff. I’m so proud.”

Cas makes that little huffing noise that Dean’s long learned his is equivalent of a chuckle. “I don’t understand why you keep using ‘sayings’ or making references that you know I won’t understand.”

“That’s half the fun of using ‘em.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And that’s why you love me.” Dean grins again at the silence afterward. He’s been pushing the envelope for the last three months, saying all kinds of things that kind of hint about his true feelings. Even if it’s easier for Dean to say things over the phone than in person, he’d rather still save _that_ conversation until he and Cas are face to face and he won’t have to wait to be able to kiss him properly.

Cas’s voice goes all soft again – like it always does after Dean says something like that – and it’s almost too easy to picture him surrounded with those little snowdrop flowers again. “I need to go now.”

“I’ll see you after the solstice then. Stay warm, Cas.”

He’s barely hung up before Sam is at his shoulder and looking all _expectant_. Dean rolls his eyes and tucks the bag with Cas’s poncho in it under his arm. “You’re worse than the ladies down at the hair salon.”

“Shut up and spill. What he say?”

“He knows when he’s going home and he told me when I can come visit.”

“And?”

“And what the hell is a _solstice_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Ambrosia: love is reciprocated  
> \- Delphinium: joy


	29. Greener Grasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cas, I got something to tell you.” Dean whispers, squeezing his wrist and sliding his hand to Cas’s shoulder and up to rest against the side of his neck. “Lemme explain and then I can help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

In the week that it took his mating plumage to grow in, Castiel’s wings have itched to the point of madness. Greens, purples and blues highlight the difference between the layers of his feathers and this is the only time of year that Castiel thinks his wings are slightly attractive. That didn’t stop him from being more irritable than usual during that week and he was aware of his temper long before Balthazar decided to mention it. Part of why he was so petulant could be attributed to yet another mating season where he has no mate. And this marks the first season where he actually _wants_ someone specifically and he can't have them.

Even now, the day before the solstice, Castiel can feel the beginnings of the heat in his veins. By tomorrow evening it will be in full effect and he'll have ten hellish days of his body needing something he won't – _can't –_ give it. Though he'll try to avoid it, Castiel knows just who he'll have in mind while he’ll be masturbating several times a day. Touching himself does almost nothing to slake the _need_ , but it's all Castiel has and he'll suffer through it like he has all the others.

Perhaps his temperament is what convinced his commander to let him leave a day early. He's certainly grateful for it. The trip home would have been almost unbearable, tucked tight to Silvanus's back while he runs the length of the mountain range and not being able to do anything to help dampen the call of the season pulling at his insides. At least Silvanus kept his word and there are paths free of snow around Castiel's home – including one leading off into the forest to where he knows Dean's car clearing is.

Silvanus practically beams, tail whipping happily when Castiel rubs his muzzle and thanks him for a job well done. He hadn't thought that Silvanus would have taken care of the path to Dean's car clearing without being asked. Castiel feels bad that he hasn't had the chance to spend much time with him. There weren't very many opportunities for Silvanus to visit during the last few months and now is not the most ideal of times either. He knows that Silvanus will stay around to keep the snow cleared from the paths and to help him if he needs it. The only time that he might leave is when Dean arrives.

Thinking about Dean only makes the itch in his wings spread under his skin. It's not even the solstice yet and thoughts of Dean – even innocent ones – are already affecting him. Anticipation is pulling tight in his chest and Castiel is counting the days. Not including today, there's only ten between him and seeing Dean again. It's not even two weeks and Castiel can hardly wait. Being able to see him again might be all that gets Castiel through this week, although he isn't looking forward to the scathing guilt he’ll likely feel for all the different things he knows he's going to think about over the next several days.

Before he even unties the rolls of mats, blankets, and supplies from Silvanus's frame, Castiel first goes into the salman. A fire is his priority and he lights his way with glowing mushrooms until he has a blaze burning in the pit. A quick check shows the place untouched. No animals made their way in and it's likely due entirely to Silvanus's vigilant watch. Castiel wonders if he even bothered to continue patrolling the rest of the forest or if he simply sat outside and waited.

Silvanus sits as close to the entrance as possible so Castiel doesn't have to pull back the cover very far when he brings in the things tied to him. The less winter air that he lets in, the better. He places the bags of food by the cave, separating the blankets and mats to opposite sides of where the othil should be. The mats that form it need to be stuffed and they're currently rolled up in the back of the cave. He'll worry about putting that together later this week – perhaps as something that he'll need to do to distract from the urges brought on by his heat.

 **Warm your home and rest, Qaal.** Silvanus rumbles a purr through the vines of his throat and nuzzles Castiel's side gently through his mabza. **It will be a difficult week. Don't concern yourself with me.**

Castiel runs a hand absently between his glowing eyes. Of course Silvanus would pick up on how he doesn't want to leave him outside, alone in the cold. The weather has no effect on him, his leaves as bright red as they always have been, but Castiel still feels bad that his home isn't big enough for Silvanus to fit comfortably too.

The sun set well over an hour ago and Castiel murmurs his 'good night' in soft words against the thick, cold vines of Silvanus's neck before he retires inside for the rest of the night. Even though the fire is doing a decent job of warming the salman, Castiel still finds all his candles and sets them on every surface. He carefully keeps them away from the mats that he hangs on the walls. The extra blankets he keeps in the cave get dragged out and hung over the leather covers, adding to the insulation. They're the weakest points in keeping the heat inside. All the new blankets that he traded for over the last few months are warmed next to the fire while he concentrates on growing a new nest.

Castiel tries not to think about how he makes the nest the same as it was when he and Dean shared it. In this shape it is much too big for him on his own. Making it like this, instead of like the basket he once slept in, is perhaps wishful thinking. If Dean sees it like this when he comes back, maybe he'll want to sleep in it again and Castiel will have the closeness with him that he's been craving for _months_. It's one of the few moment when he is allowed to have that with Dean and Castiel can only hope that Dean will let him have it again.

Growing the nest is the last thing he does before he falls asleep curled in it under all his spare blankets. He tells himself that he isn't going to bring Dean's pillow and sleeping bag out of the cave until the day Dean is supposed to arrive. He can't risk having Dean's things out when he can’t guarantee that he won’t do something to them. It's best that they stay tucked away until Dean is here.

That decision only lasts a few days.

The candles were put out before he went to sleep the night before and even if their added light would be helpful, Castiel doesn't need the extra heat. Just the fire is enough to have him sweating and moving around in nothing but his qaa. He feels too hot and knowing that it is a side effect of the mating season only makes him hate it more. Every few hours he needs to wipe himself down with a cloth soaked in cool water. It helps to keep the urges at bay, but this is only the first day. In a few days time it will be even worse if he doesn't do something to alleviate the symptoms.

He tries exhausting himself by pushing his powers to their limit and re-growing a new table with stumps as seats. To make sure he'll be tired enough to sleep without having to deal with the urge to touch himself, Castiel adds backs to the stumps. They're short backs that barely even reach the joints of his wings, but Castiel puts effort into them, weaving branches together to match the top of the table. It does the job and he barely manages to get back into his nest before he passes out. Castiel wakes late in the evening and his powers aren't strong enough to grow what he would need to stuff the othil again.

Instead, Castiel bakes and makes enough bread to last him the rest of the week. There's no way for him to predict if he'll be cognizant enough over the coming days to be able to do it then. While he's looking through the shelves for the ingredients, he almost stumbles right over Dean's bedding. He _knows_ that there's none of Dean's scent left on it, but Castiel can't stop thinking that maybe – just maybe – there might be. The thought bothers him enough he nearly burns his hands while trying to take the pans out of the oven.

By the time he's ready to sleep again, it’s late into the night and Castiel has spent the whole day uncomfortable in his own skin – including the time he was sleeping. Tomorrow will be worse and he knows he's going to break. It's practically guaranteed and if it's going to happen then, why shouldn't it happen now? In all his previous mating seasons, Castiel hasn't hesitated to untie his qaa and take care of himself. The only difference between those years and now is _Dean_. As much as he wants Dean, as much as he desires him in all aspects, Castiel remembers how terrible he had felt the last time he masturbated to thoughts of Dean and he doesn't want to feel like that again.

To make himself sleep that night, Castiel gathers what little bit of his powers have recovered since he grew the table earlier and he grows thick swatches of long grass. His hands shake and he can barely stay upright as he cuts it down and stuffs the mats of the othil, carefully arranging them against the wall between his weaving rack and the stump with a decorative branch and stones on it. There's not enough energy in his bones to climb into his nest and Castiel passes out on the othil.

The heat in his veins is unbearable when he wakes up and Castiel needs to cool it. Silvanus snorts in surprise when he steps outside in nothing but his warriors outfit and takes a running leap into the nearest bank of snow. Clothing only feels like it irritates his skin, but he won't throw himself into the snow without at least _some_ protection. He spreads his wings and tries digging them into the powder. Everything feels too hot, his skin pulled too tight, and even out here he can barely breathe around the heat clogging his lungs.

His breaking point is when he tries making something to eat while his clothes dry above the fire. He passes by the small pile of Dean's things again while fetching water from the spring and before Castiel's mind can catch up with his body, he has the sleeping bag spread out on the othil and he is stretched out on his side on top of it, face buried in the pillow. There's no trace of Dean's scent on it after so many months in the cave and Castiel muffles an unhappy groan, palm pressing down on the front of his qaa.

For the short time it takes to stroke himself to orgasm, Castiel carefully tries to keep his mind blank. It doesn't work and he reaches completion when the first stray though creeps in – an all too brief daydream that it's not Dean's pillow under his cheek but Dean's chest and it's _his_ hand touching him now. It's Dean's hand that reaches behind Castiel to find the small gland under his wing to gather the oil and spread it over his penis, easing the slide of fingers and palm.

As he predicted, no sooner has he wiped his hand clean with a damp cloth does he loathe himself for thinking of Dean like that. Just because Dean is fine with Castiel sleeping pressed against his side doesn't mean that he would be okay with touching Castiel like he just did. No matter how much Castiel wishes for it, no matter how much hope he's given every time he and Dean speak, the chances of having that – of having Dean in every way that he wants – are so small that it hurts him to think of it.

At least that manages to quench the burning in his belly for a while. It gives Castiel enough time to eat and start weaving another mat as something to distract himself with. He tries humming or singing songs to keep his mind off how his wings keep twitching, feathers itching. The only song that keeps coming to mind is the one he learned from Dean’s music player. Castiel manages a few hours of weaving before he drops his hands to his lap, folding his wings forward and around him. With one hand stroking through his feathers, fingers tracing the blend of colours, he unties his qaa with the other and pushes it down until he can free his growing erection.

He remembers every moment that Dean has touched his wings and if he closes his eyes, he can easily imagine it's Dean's fingers sweeping through his feathers. It takes longer to orgasm now than it did earlier, but not by much. The more he does this, the longer it will take each time and Castiel hates it. What's the point of doing this when it only serves to remind him that he's alone? He can't even call Dean to talk. If he hears his voice while Dean can't see him, what would keep Castiel from touching himself during the call? It's not something he's willing to take a risk on. For now, he can take care of himself and just wish that it was Dean for a little while.

But it keeps happening. Thoughts of Dean surface in his mind every time he lowers a hand to the erection straining against the soft leather of his qaa and it's always Dean's name on his lips when he orgasms. On the third day Castiel bathes himself in the snow again to put off the heat and the need for another hour. It barely works and he still finds himself with Dean's bedding bunched beneath him, the pillow trapped between his arms as he presses his face into it and ruts against the sleek feel of the sleeping bag. It's the only time he keeps his qaa in place, preferring to stain that instead of the blanket.

Every day is worse than the next and Castiel is quickly starting to hate the smell of coriander as it grows in thick patches whenever he touches himself and thinks of Dean. By the sixth day, there's barely any down time in between. There would be if he had a mate and could properly work the heat out of his system, but his hand is a poor substitute and it only makes Castiel more frustrated every time he feels the liquid burn pull tight in his belly. Nothing he does can dampen the fire in his veins – no herbs to take, no songs to sing. Nothing distracts him for long and some nights he can barely sleep for how uncomfortable he is.

By late afternoon, Castiel is tired. He's lost count of how many times he's orgasmed today alone and his wings are listless, stretched across his nest and twitching every so often. His hips won't hold still, rocking uselessly against the rough fabric of the blanket he's laying on. He abandoned wearing his qaa days ago, only wearing it when he's seeking relief on or near Dean's bedding. It has taken most of his will power to leave those down on the othil. The small roll of his hips is doing almost nothing for the erection slowly growing hard between his belly and the blanket.

He barely hears, let alone registers, the crunch of footsteps in the frost covered snow outside. The sound of knocking is what makes him lift his head from the mess of blankets forming his nest. Abject horror lurches through his chest and steals his breath when the leather and blankets over the entrance shift. An all too familiar voice – one he's spent the last week thinking of – calls inside.

“Hey Cas? You home?”

Castiel drops his head to muffle a groan into the blankets. He was right. Just the sound of Dean's _voice_ is affecting him in dangerous ways and now Dean is _here_. Dean is here and he's unhooking the leather to get inside and Castiel is fully – painfully – erect now. This is bad – this is horrible. Dean shouldn't – he _can't_ be here right now. Any time but _now_. He's four days too early and Castiel isn't sure if he'll be able to keep from touching, tasting, _taking_ what Dean has so willingly given to others.

What if he’s not strong enough?

x

Hiking from the main road in the dead of winter is maybe not one of Dean's best ideas. At least he has a scarf, a hat, and a wicked awesome set of mittens. He maybe should have invested in some ski pants or something, because his jeans feel like sheets of ice against his legs in under five minutes after he leaves the Impala. Next time, he tells himself. Right now it's totally worth it.

Since Cas didn't meet him at the tree-gate, then the forest probably hasn't told him that Dean's there and everything is playing right into his surprise. The only thing that he takes from the car is his gift for Cas. Everything else can stay in the back seat until he and Cas come back together to move the car to the clearing. He's got the present – all nicely wrapped up with a bow and everything courtesy of wrapping lessons from Jess – and he's excited. Nervous as fuck, but _excited_.

It's been months since he got to see Cas and this time he knows how Cas feels about him. Unless something's changed in the last three months, then Cas still feels the same and Dean's going in knowing that there's every chance he's going to be able to actually kiss Cas tonight. It'll be one of the best Christmas presents ever, frankly. Even if Christmas was a few days ago.

He's was kind of surprised to find that the main road was cleared of snow. With how few people come this way during the winter, Dean kind of thought they wouldn't bother plowing it. Now that he's trekking up his special secret road, he kind of thinks that maybe it was cleared just for him. This one looks like it was done the same and judging by the big ass alien foot prints, it was probably Silvanus.

“Y'think he'd be more secretive.” Dean mumbles into his scarf, hunching his shoulders against the wind. “Someone sees those prints and the whole forest is gonna be swamped with Bigfoot and UFO nuts.”

Come to think of it, if Silvanus is supposed to be protecting the forest from loggers and stuff, then he's probably been seen before. Or he's gotta be leaving some kind of trace of himself around. So why hasn't anyone freaked the fuck out about a giant, sorta cat-like shaped tree beast? Maybe Silvanus is a higher level of ninja than Dean gives him credit for.

Even the path from the clearing to Cas's house is all cleaned up for him. Man, Dean is going to have to buy Silvanus some dog treats or whatever the hell it is that he eats. Mushrooms? Babies? Honestly, he's never seen the big guy eat. Maybe he lives off Cas's mojo and that's enough for him. Either way, he'll have to be nicer to him – even if the chances that Cas had to order him to do it are ridiculously high.

The closer he gets to Cas's house, the more jittery Dean feels. His hands are practically shaking in his pockets and he's pretty sure that only half of that can be contributed to the cold. Maybe he should have called ahead. What if Cas isn't here yet? He said he was going to be here a while after the solstice, right? It's been a few weeks since Cas told him when he was coming home and they've only had a ten minute call since then and it was only Cas calling to say he couldn’t wait to go home. Half the call was him complaining about how much his wings were bothering him and refusing to explain _why_.

Cas doesn't answer him when he knocks on the wood or pushes at the flap of leather covering the 'door'. The vines and moss he's so used to hanging here are long gone – probably died and rotted away with the winter chill while Cas wasn’t here. It's a little unnerving and the lack of green makes everything look so _different_. He can smell the telltale smoky tang of a fire even before he sticks his hand through the break in the leather to feel along the edge of the 'door' for the little loops and hooks that keep it buttoned down.

By the time he's got it unhooked enough for him to duck through, he's _sure_ Cas is home. He might have heard a groan – and that just makes him worried – and there is definitely something rustling inside. It's muffled through the leather and blankets, but Dean can hear it and that means someone is home. So if Cas is home, why the hell isn't he answering him?

It's darker inside, but Dean still catches the flurry of black feathers, skin, and blankets that drops out of the nest and slips into the cave – then everything just becomes shadows. “Cas?”

Again he doesn't get an answer – at least none that he actually hears. It's a lot warmer inside than Dean thought it would be and it might just be his imagination, but it smells different in here too. Maybe it’s the lack of a breeze moving through the place.

He pulls a mitten off one hand to button down the leather again – it was hard enough to unhook it without the use of his fingers. Dean drops his hat, mitts and scarf on the couch and crouches to put the present down gently. That's when he notices that the mess of blankets at the end of the couch looks suspiciously like his sleeping bag and pillow.

The sound of splashing water, louder than the steady noise of the water fall into the pool in the back of the cave, drags his attention back to Cas and his not-entirely-uncharacteristic silence. Those loud splashing noises happen again and Dean unzips his jacket, shrugging it off and dumping it over the back of one of the chairs – he stops and looks at what he just did. There are actually _backs_ to the stump-stools now. What the hell? Did Cas decide to get fancy when he grew them this time?

Another splash and he's heading toward the cave again. “Cas, man, you okay? You're scaring me here.”

“Don't!” It's breathy, but forceful and Dean comes to a full stop. “Stay –” Cas makes something that sounds way too much like a groan of pain for Dean's liking and he takes another step, stopping again when Cas catches his breath. “Stay out there!”

He does, but under protest. “Are you sick or something? Is there anything that I can do to help?”

The little laugh is probably one of the last things he was expecting to hear from Cas right then – even if it does sound kind of pained and unhappy. At least it doesn't last long and then Cas is stumbling out of the dark. He's soaked and his hair is plastered to his forehead in wet curls as if he'd been dumping water over his head. Dean takes note of that along with the bigger markings along his collarbone and how it looks like Cas hasn't shaved in over a week. He's got a hell of a peach fuzz going on. As interesting as that is, Dean's more distracted by how Cas is only wearing a blanket wrapped around his waist.

“You – you're early.” Cas manages to get out before staggering to one side and leaning against the wall. One hand presses against the stone and the other grabs at the knot where he tied the blanket.

That tight ball of worry that's been pulsing away in the general vicinity of his heart grows to replace a lung too and Dean reaches out to help him on instinct. Something’s wrong and he doesn't care what as long as there's something he can do to help. Cas's eyes go almost impossibly wide and the wing that isn't half-pinned against the wall snaps out until it crashes into the other side of the cave mouth. That's enough to get Dean to stop and drop his hand. Maybe it's the fire playing tricks on his eyes since it's the only source of light in this whole place, but Dean is almost positive that there are actual colours in Cas's feathers today. They’re gorgeous and it kind of takes his breath away.

It takes him a minute to take his eyes off Cas’s wings and actually look back at him. He’s pale where he isn’t flushed red, and he’s sweating despite what’s gotta be pretty frikken cold water still dripping from his hair. Hell, Cas is even breathing heavy, short and fast and yeah, Dean is definitely worried. Everything else gets shunted out of his head because right now something isn’t kosher.

“Cas, what’s wrong?” Dean asks again, trying for another step forward and stopping when Cas reels away from him.

“You’re –” He cuts himself off again, eyes squeezing shut as he hunches over for a moment before he looks up at Dean. “You’re _early_.”

Because _that’s_ the most important thing right now. Dean just barely resists rolling his eyes and shrugs instead. “Yeah, sorry. I thought I’d come surprise you – either get this place set up before you got here or get to spend a little extra time with you. I would’ve been here sooner, but I heard about a haunted house on the way and stopped to take care of it.”

He shoves his hand through his hair and glances back at the brightly wrapped gift on the couch. “I kinda wanted to spend Christmas with you, but since it was a few days ago I’m happy to settle for New Years.”

Cas only makes a strangled little noise in the back of his throat and hangs his head, almost doubling over on himself as his wings pull up tight and curve over his shoulders. He’s shaking and it’s no surprise if he dumped a couple jugs of water over his head, but that isn’t stopping Dean from getting more worried.

“Could you at least tell me what the hell’s wrong with you right now?” Dean gestures at him when Cas looks up again. “Are you sick? Does something hurt? Tell me so I can _help_.”

“I’m _fine_.”

Yeah, like Dean’s going to believe that when Cas is fucking _hissing_ the words around another pain filled frown. A half dozen plans flash through Dean’s head and he doesn’t like a single one of them. Anything that involves _tricking_ Cas into telling him is shitty at best and he doesn’t want manipulation to be something that gets in the way of The Talk they still need to have. Looks like he’s going to have to take this problem head on.

“Listen, Cas.” Dean waits until he’s got Cas’s eyes on him again. “There’s something we need to talk about and we can’t do that while you’re all –” He gestures at him and the way Cas is trying to stop leaning against the wall, wings draping forward over his shoulders. “If it’s something I can help with, just tell me. I don’t like seeing you like this and I want to help.”

“You –” Cas takes a shaky breath, his eyes wide and glassy. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m pretty sure I do. Something’s wrong with you and I want to help.” He takes another step toward him and this time Cas doesn’t back away. Actually, he’s gone still to the point that he’s barely breathing. Dean gets another few steps closer – close enough to touch his wing.“Let me help, Cas.”

The feathers don’t feel right under Dean’s fingers, like they haven’t been oiled in a while. Something big must be going down if Cas hasn’t been maintaining his wings properly. Guess that’s just something Dean’s going to have to do for him later – maybe after they have their talk. That way, if Cas makes those little happy noises again and red poppies grow, they’ll actually be able to _do_ something about it.

It takes to the third stroke of Dean’s hand over his wing for Cas to let out a heavy breath and his eyes slide closed. His wings part and lift, edging out to include Dean in the circle they make. He gets his hand on Cas’s shoulder just before he pitches forward, like his legs just gave out on him. With the wings, Cas is heavier than Dean is used to holding up and his own knees damn near fold too. It takes a little effort, but he manages to get his arms around Cas’s waist and tries really hard not to worry about just how damn _hot_ Cas’s skin is right now.

“C’mon, let’s get you in bed.”

Cas’s wings flare out again and Dean has all of two seconds to appreciate the sight and wonder what the hell’s wrong before he’s on his back and staring up at the underside of Cas’s nest, the edge of the table digging into the back of his thighs. Everything kind of clicks right around the time Cas’s hands slide under Dean’s sweater and he starts rocking a pretty fucking obvious boner against his hip. Dean had been so caught up in planning out how he’d confess to Cas about the flowers and everything that he completely forgot the reason Cas told him he’d be coming home this winter. To be fair, Cas told him that almost three months ago and they haven’t talking about it since then. But _still_ – how the fuck did he forget about Cas’s goddamn _mating season_?

Hot breath washes over his ear and stubble scrapes against his neck. Dean really shouldn’t be arching into the too-warm hands on his stomach but it’s automatic. His hands are fixed around Cas’s upper arms, holding tight because what else is he supposed to do? He’s trying his best not to hook his legs around Cas’s waist, or twist his hips just right so Cas is rubbing up against something a hell of a lot better than his hip.

This isn’t Cas. He’s in heat or something and _this isn’t him_.

“Ten days.” Cas hisses and _Jesus_ , he’s mouthing at Dean’s jaw and that’s definitely teeth catching against his chin. A better man than Dean wouldn’t be getting hard right now. “I told you _ten days_.” He actually growls and he’s shaking under Dean’s hands, voice strained as his wings fan out and drape over the sides of the table. “Why couldn’t you just _listen_?”

“Cas –”

One of the hands under his shirt comes up to slap down over his mouth. “Shut _up_ , Dean.” The trembling gets worse when Cas actually stops moving completely, groaning against Dean’s throat. “You – You need to leave. Go – before I do anything more I’ll regret.”

That hurts. It hurts and it doesn’t make sense. If Cas wants him – and Dean _knows_ he does – then why would he regret something Dean really wants to give him? Maybe Cas needs The Talk first. Dean bets Cas would be more willing to work through his mating season with him if he knew that Dean felt the same way. That sounds like an entirely plausible plan and Dean doesn’t even want to do it all for the potential of sex. He wants to do it so Cas won't sound like he’s in pain, so he won’t look back at this and _regret_ it. That decided, Dean moves his grip to Cas’s wrist and pries his hand off his mouth.

“Cas, I –”

“Don’t.” Cas cuts him off and he’s shaking when he pushes himself away, wings spreading and trembling above him. He doesn’t move far, just up enough to that he can look down at him. He’s sweating and flushed and the way he’s looking at him is the same damn way he did that night Dean kissed him. Shit, he’s making it _really_ hard for Dean to keep himself from reaching up and pulling him back down and showing him how good a mating season should be.

“Don’t say you can help.” Oh fuck, there should be a law or something that makes it illegal for Cas to talk close enough for Dean to practically feel the words on his lips. It’s basically a form of torture and he might crack the same as he did before. All he has to do is lift his head and he could be kissing Cas again and with the condition he’s in right now, it wouldn’t end there. Which is exactly why Dean isn’t moving.

Except Cas is making it _really_ fucking hard to keep to that, especially when he’s got one hand still moving over Dean’s ribs. The other is dangerously close to grabbing a fistful of Dean’s hair and his hips keep making jerky little movements – like he’s struggling to keep from rutting himself stupid against the front of Dean’s jeans.

“Cas, I got something to tell you.” Dean whispers, squeezing his wrist and sliding his hand to Cas’s shoulder and up to rest against the side of his neck. “Lemme explain and then I can help you.”

He groans and his wings twitch hard against his back. Cas drops his head until he’s cheek to cheek with Dean, pressing their temples together and all Dean can think is that Cas is trying not to give in. He’s trying so hard because he doesn’t want it, not like this. There are half dozen different wishes kicking around in Dean’s head and all of them involve some kind of time travel or something so he could let Cas know sooner, or so he wouldn’t be here in the first place to make this that much worse for Cas.

Three words. All he has to do is say three words and Cas will know and maybe he’ll stop fighting. Fighting it is hurting him and Dean can’t stand knowing that it’s his fault. Cas is hurting right now, like this, because Dean didn’t act sooner.

“If –” Cas almost chokes on the word and he turns his head, lips brushing under his ear. “If I was to have you, Dean –”

Hot and cold chases over Dean’s skin and it feels like his ribs are squeezing tight around his lungs. He’s barely breathing and he doesn’t even notice it because Cas is whispering in his ear and it’s sending all kinds of signals bouncing all over his body.

“If I was to have you, I would want _all_ of you, Dean. Not just your body.” The last words are said no louder than a breath and then Cas is gone.

Dean feels the cold like a bucket of water in the face. He knew Cas was running hot but it doesn’t really hit him to just how much until he’s not pressed up against him anymore, all the warmth and skin disappearing up over the edge of the nest. It takes him a few minutes to breathe, to get his bearings back and try to focus on the crackling of the fire instead of the ragged and broken sounds in the nest a good five feet above his head.

As soon as he’s got his feet under him, and they’re unsteady as shit, Dean grabs his jacket. He looks up at the nest and manages to get Cas’s name out again, an apology right behind it, but Cas muffles a shout that sounds a hell of a lot like he’s telling Dean to get the fuck out. Dean feels sick. He’s half hard in his jeans but that tight ball of worry is even bigger now and it feels like it’s choking him. At least he remembers his hat and shit before he’s out the door and stumbling back down the path.

The cold air feels like knives in his lungs and he doesn’t care, doesn’t stop until he’s fumbling his keys out of his pocket to get the door open. His seat is cold and he barely notices it, just slams the door and drops his forehead against the steering wheel. Maybe the string of swears isn’t actually necessary, but they help Dean feel a little better and sort out the mess in his head enough to get the keys in the ignition to heat his baby up.

It’s not like he didn’t _try_ to have The Talk with Cas. No one can fault him for that because he definitely tried. Cas just – this wasn’t the right time for him. Maybe – fuck, maybe he’ll be able to talk later when the mating season is over and they won’t get distracted with him dry humping Dean’s leg like a dog in heat. Right now Dean can’t think of anything more distracting than that and it’s making it really hard for his demi-boner to go away. What happened isn’t a good thing. It’s about as far as they can get from what Dean had expected – had hoped – would happen with this visit.

He remembers the present – still sitting at the end of the couch – when he’s halfway to the nearest town. Fuck. Dean doesn’t want Cas to open it without him there, but he can’t turn around and go back and he’s not sure if calling him would be a good idea right now. Cas could be fucking pissed at him and going back might just mess things up more. He doesn’t want just sex and the worst part of all this is if he’d just let Dean speak then Cas would know he’s already got all of him.

Dean almost goes off the road when his satellite phone starts ringing in the backseat. The Impala is barely in park on the shoulder before Dean is scrambling around to kneel on his seat and root through his bags until he finds it. It could be anyone calling him, but he knows who he hopes it is.

“Cas?” The sharp gasp and ragged breathing is all the answer he needs. Dean lets everything out in a rush because it might just be the only way he’ll say all of it without being interrupted. “Cas, I’m sorry I didn’t listen and that I basically forgot all about your mating season. If you’re going to beat yourself up about the whole table thing, don’t. I’m okay with it and I’m not uncomfortable or mad at you or anything. Okay?”

The big, important, life changing thing he wants to tell Cas is still on reserve for when they can talk face to face. That’s not right now and at best, that’s four days away. After waiting three months, he can wait four damn days.

Cas makes a soft noise and Dean fists his hand against his thigh. There is no way he’s going to let his imagination take that sound and run wild with it. He knows exactly where it wants to go and he is _not_ going to think that Cas called him while he’s jerking off or doing whatever it is that Cas does to deal with all the problems the mating season gives him.

“I didn’t – I shouldn’t have –” He stops around a muffled noise that carves a hot trail through Dean to settle somewhere in his gut. It takes Cas a minute to get started again. “I’m sorry. You said you had something to – to tell me?”

“Yeah, there’s something we need to talk about and if I could do it over the phone, I would’ve done it months ago. It can wait. How long is this supposed to last?”

“Ten days starting on the solstice.”

Dean rubs a hand through his hair, thinking back to what he and Sam had found when they googled it. “That was the twenty-first. So, including that day – the thirtieth? Today’s the twenty-sixth – do you want me to come on the fourth day or the fifth?”

“The last day is the worst.”

Jesus. He’s going to suffer so bad and Dean’s going to be sitting a few hour’s drive away when he could be with Cas and helping him. And he’s trying _really hard_ not to let his decision get affected by how he hasn’t had sex in months. He hasn’t gone this long without sex since he was a virgin. Knowing he could be having it _right now_ but he’s not because Cas didn’t let him talk is maybe sort of slowly killing Dean inside at the moment.

He is _so_ getting drunk tonight.

“I’ll come back on the thirty-first. Four day starting tomorrow, five starting right now. Is that okay?”

There’s another strangled little noise like Cas is doing his damnedest to hold back. “Yes. I – Dean, I need to – I’m sorry. Five days, I’ll see you in five days.” And then the line goes dead and Dean has to press his palm down on the front of his jeans to try and fight off exactly what he really doesn’t need right now.

What he needs is to find some way of telling Cas he’s in love with him that doesn’t involve words. He’s tried saying it, or something like it before – tried testing the waters before he knew how Cas really felt. Now that he knows, his latest attempt just blew up in his face because the timing was all wrong.

With them, words don’t fucking _work_.

x

The air does a good job of clearing Castiel’s mind, even if it is cold and bites at him through the thin layers of his tunic and pants. His mabza is currently keeping Silvanus’s nose warm below, but Castiel can feel his irritation through their bond even if he’s too high up to hear his voice. Despite his resistance to the cold, Castiel is not immune to it and Silvanus doesn’t want him to freeze.

It’s an understandable worry, but it’s one he can easily ignore right now. After being cooped up in his salman for ten days, barely able to think let alone eat and drink, Castiel wants to fly. He wants to let the sky take away the nerves that fill his chest whenever he stops to remember that Dean is coming for his visit today. They haven’t spoken since the phone call and Castiel doesn’t know if he can face him after what happened.

Those few minutes of having Dean under him, of tasting his skin and feeling the scars on his sides with his hands – they fueled his fantasies through the remainder of the season. The guilt he feels over that rivals how bad he feels for using Dean’s bedding in all the ways that he did. He’s washed and aired out both the sleeping bag and pillow since the heat died in his veins last night, but he’s still worried that Dean will somehow find out and be upset with him for it.

He’s also very curious about the brightly coloured box with the bow on it that Dean had left. It’s been sitting on the table since Castiel found it a few days ago. During his cleaning this morning he caught himself thinking about it more than once. If Dean left it, does that mean it’s something for Castiel? Does he want him to open it? Curiosity aside, Castiel thought it better to wait for Dean.

It’s late in the afternoon now and after cleaning out the salman and setting a stew to simmer for dinner, he’s spent the day walking through the forest with Silvanus and checking the river and lake. The water is frozen now, but Silvanus can break the ice easily and Castiel only needs to dip his hand in to cleanse the rushing waters beneath. It’s his powers, flowing through his finger tips and into the water, that keeps his hand from freezing.

 **You should return to home soon, Qaal.** Silvanus nudges him the moment he lands, nearly knocking Castiel from his feet.

“I’ll go home when you answer the question I posed when we left.” He gives him a sharp look, pulling his mabza over his head and flapping his wings to try and get it to settle properly over their joints instead of bunching on them and not covering his back. He’s molting his mating plumage now and it is just as itchy as when they were growing in.

**I forget the question.**

“Don’t lie.” He huffs, knocking Silvanus in the snout with one of his wings. “Why didn’t you stop Dean? You saw him walking and you knew I was in the middle of my heat. You should have stopped him.”

Silvanus looks away, walking ahead of Castiel as they turn toward home. **Because you are blind, Qaal.** He glances back over his shoulder, his glowing eyes bright with more than just the light of Castiel’s powers in him. **I don’t like him, but he was needed. You should have taken the help he offered.**

Castiel’s wings fold tightly to his back and he knows the action isn’t purely to keep him warm. “I didn’t want his help. Not like that.”

**As I said, you are blind. And you are late.**

“What do you mean by that?”

The harsh huffing sounds of Silvanus’s laugh fills the forest as he drops to his haunches. **Your human arrived hours ago.**

He needs no further incentive to climb onto Silvanus’s back. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why did the forest tell you and not me?”

 **You needed your time to relax.** Silvanus breaks into a loping gait and Castiel ducks flat against his back to keep from being caught by a stray branch. **The forest and I are one, Qaal. You know this. It didn’t have to _tell_ me anything. I saw his arrival through it.**

Castiel sighs, squeezing his eyes shut against the whipping winds. It seems his mind is still not fully cleared after the mating season if he could forget something like that. Silvanus’s connection to the forest is one of the first things he learned about after raising him. It’s a deeper bond than theirs and Castiel has often wondered if it’s because of something his original Qaal did when creating him.

Silvanus slows and enters the clearing quietly when they reach the salman. He stops by the leather covered entrance and nudges Castiel again once he slips from his back. **I will return to bear you to the clan when the time comes. You’ll enjoy his visit more if you open your eyes, Qaal.**

He doesn’t stay long enough for Castiel to question him, his tail sweeping the snow as he saunters off across the clearing. Castiel watches him leave, fully aware that Dean is inside and there’s nothing left to prolong their meeting. Knowing that doesn’t stop his hands from shaking as he unhooks the leather at the edges of the entrance and slips inside.

It’s much darker in here, the fire half hidden by the pot of stew hanging over it. Castiel waves his hand as he pulls his mabza over his head to hang it from a hook beside the entrance. Glowing mushrooms spread along the walls and shelves, lighting where the fire does not reach. He doesn’t see Dean at first and briefly wonders if he’s in the back of the cave or if he’s in the nest. His name catches in Castiel’s throat when he notices the sleeping bag is stretched out on the othil instead of rolled at its end like he had left it.

Dean is sleeping with the edge of the blanket pulled to his shoulder and the cover of his pillow caught in his fist. There are dark smudges under his eyes and that fluttery nervous feeling in Castiel’s chest gets worse. It looks like Dean hasn’t slept properly in days and Castiel can’t help but feel like it’s his fault. Even though Dean said he was unbothered by what happened when he was here last, he could have easily been lying.

He decides that it would be better to let Dean sleep for now and he resists the temptation to run a hand through his hair or pull the blanket up a little higher. After their last encounter, Castiel isn’t sure where they stand now. The little touches might no longer be accepted and that terrifies him. He doesn’t want to lose anything that he had with Dean.

Castiel turns with the intent to check on the stew, but the addition of another box to the table stops him. It’s long, thin and very different from the flat, square and brightly coloured one that Dean left before. This box has a lid to it and a folded piece of paper on top of that. The paper has two words on it and Castiel tilts his head as he reads them.

_Open me._

If Dean didn’t want Castiel to open this while he was sleeping, surely he would have put a different sign. Quietly, he places the paper aside and carefully lifts the lid. Inside are five small pots of soil each with a numbered stick standing upright. From left to right they go from numbers one to five and there is another slip of paper resting over pot number three. Again there are only two words on it.

_Grow us._

He puts the paper aside and places a fingertip against the soil of the first pot. It only takes a small curl of his powers into the dirt to find the buried seed. Castiel glances up at Dean, checking to see if he’s awake. He hasn’t moved and if he wanted Castiel to wake him then one of the signs would have said so. After quickly checking that there are no more signs on the inside of the lid, under the box, or hidden on the other papers and sticks, Castiel confirms that there is nothing stating that he needs to wake Dean before he encourages the seeds to grow.

The first flower that blooms under his guidance is a lily. Its orange petals fold out, curling at the ends. Castiel traces its edges and frowns, tilting his head as he studies it. He knows the meaning of the flower, but he doesn’t understand what ‘desire’ has to do with anything. His suspicions grow to match the budding hope behind his ribs when the second flower that blooms under his touch is a gardenia, its white petals soft as Castiel touches them too.

Maybe Dean is only giving him flowers that he’s seen Castiel grow before. The rational part of Castiel wants to believe that this is only a gift of flowers that he’s grown on many occasions around Dean. The rest of him is torn between being hopeful and being terrified that Dean knows what the flowers mean now. And he doesn’t know if the use of gardenia here means luck, or joy, or – his breath catches in his throat when he dares to think that it might carry any of its other more romantic meanings.

His heart beats hard in his chest and Castiel can hardly breathe when the third flower that grows under his hands is a many petaled red carnation. Its meanings are far more succinct and there is no doubt, no rationalizing away what could possibly be meant by this one. His hands start to shake when a white rainflower sprouts with the energy he pours into the seed. Keeping in line with the meanings of the others before it, Castiel can only think – only hope with that thundering storm of it building around his heart – that it truly means Dean returns his feelings.

Castiel doesn’t realize that he’s stopped wondering if Dean understands the language of flowers. He pours his powers into the next seed, urging it to grow as quickly as it can. When the dark purple ambrosia blossoms, Castiel’s wings flare in surprise and he can barely touch its petals for how hard his fingers are trembling.

How many months has Dean been saying he’s ‘drunk on ambrosia’ when Castiel asks why he sounds so happy? How many months has Dean been telling him, in a language Castiel should have understood, that his feelings are reciprocated? Dean _knows_. He knows what the flowers mean. Dean knows and he’s been giving his answer all this time and – and Castiel should wake him.

He needs to wake Dean _right now_. Castiel looks up from the flowers and his feathers twitch, fluffing and doubling the size of his wings as his breathing stutters to a stop.

Dean is awake.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Orange Lily: desire  
> \- Gardenia: you’re lovely; secret love; joy; sweet love; good luck  
> \- Red carnation: deep romantic love; my heart aches for you)  
> \- White Rainflower: I love you back  
> \- Ambrosia: love is reciprocated


	30. The Other Side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the notebook he keeps tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket, Dean takes two papers. He scribbles probably the cheesiest most 'Alice in Wonderland' shit he’s likely to ever write, and leaves one paper inside the box and another folded like a place card on top. Hopefully no little breeze or anything is going to knock it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Cas isn’t in the house when Dean knocks and lets himself in. He’s a little disappointed, yeah, but he understands. If he had to spend ten days going out of his mind with hormones cooped up in a one room house, he’d want to get out and stretch his legs too. It’s actually probably a good thing that Cas isn’t here right now. Dean can get set up and maybe rest for a bit. It feels like he’s been up for days – even though he _knows_ he slept at least a few hours every night.

The house is warm as hell and he strips off his winter gear, finding a place for them in a corner with his boots. He puts the flower box on the table, hand lingering on the lid as he looks around. The present he forgot last time is unopened and on the table. Everything else is clean, and the air is filled with the smell of stew. It makes his stomach grumble, a casual reminder that he hasn’t eaten anything today except for three large coffees. He ignores that acidic tickle at the back of his throat. There’s no way he can eat right now, not with the clusterfuck of nerves clawing away in his belly.

He drums his fingers on the box for a moment, thinking about what he could do. Dean doesn’t know when Cas is going to come back. It could be five minutes, it could be five hours – especially if Cas might be trying to avoid him after what happened the other day. Which is why this box is so important. He pats it for good measure. Words haven’t worked yet between him and Cas, so he figures he’ll give it a shot with the only other language they’re both sorta familiar with.

It took him four days to find everything he needed. The day he left Cas’s place, he drank himself stupid and the next morning he went straight to Sam’s place to dump his groceries in his freezer. After that it was a day’s worth of calling up every flower store and greenhouse in California to find out if they had what he needed. Dean wanted _seeds_ , not the flowers themselves and that was a whole different pain in his ass having to drive all over hell and creation to get them. Having Cas grow the flowers from seeds has something to do with a symbolism Dean doesn’t really want to think about but it was the right choice.

Just like how he thinks taking a nap right now might be a good idea. That way he won’t be tired as hell when Cas comes back. Plus, if he’s sleeping, Cas probably won’t wake him. He’ll let Dean sleep for a bit and that could give him the time to grow the flowers, especially if Dean leaves notes for him to do it. If Dean’s sleeping there’s no chance he’ll be able to say or do something that’ll screw this up. He doesn’t want to risk it. This is important and if he fucks it up, he’s not sure if he’ll have the guts to do it all again.

From the notebook he keeps tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket, Dean takes two papers. He scribbles probably the cheesiest most 'Alice in Wonderland' shit he’s likely to ever write, and leaves one paper inside the box and another folded like a place card on top. Hopefully no little breeze or anything is going to knock it off.

With that done, he decides on the couch instead of the nest as a good napping place. Dean can keep an eye on the flowers from here and if he wakes up when Cas gets back, he can watch without making a ruckus. The sleeping bag and the pillow are folded together at the end of the couch. They’re crisp and they smell fresh – like snow and sunlight – and Dean sinks into them. It shouldn’t be so easy to relax in a tree house out in the middle of nowhere in winter, but this place has always had that effect on him. He feels safe, he feels at _home_ here, and he’s asleep in minutes.

Dean wakes up what feels like at least a few hours later and the first thing he sees, besides the blurred edge of the pillow, is Cas. He’s standing at the table with that blue light glowing under his feathers in contrast to the green of the mushrooms all over the walls and the red-orange of the fire. His hands are over the pots and he’s got his head tilted to the side. Only one flower has been grown so far – the orange lily – and Cas is growing the gardenia with a confused little frown on his face. Dean curls his fingers in the blanket and holds his breath when Cas moves onto the carnation, glancing back at the other two while it blossoms.

He knows the exact moment when Cas starts to understand. Cas doesn’t exactly move, but his wings puff up, feathers spreading. Even from the couch Dean can see how Cas’s breathing changes, coming in quick little puffs and his hands start shaking. When the rainflower grows, Cas bites his bottom lip and his wings start getting twitchy. Carefully, Dean gets up. He knows he makes noise, it’s not like he’s trying to be _completely_ quiet, but Cas doesn’t even look up.

Cas’s wings spread out and his feathers go flat at the ambrosia and Dean even sees him mouth the name of the flower. So he _did_ notice what Dean had been saying these last few months and it’s probably all falling into place like puzzle pieces right now. He almost wants to laugh. Dean waits until Cas looks at him. He left the book of flower meanings in his car, but he’s got the folded list of them he printed off the internet and it crinkles when he puts his hands in his pockets.

When Cas looks up, his feathers puff again and without the glow Dean can see the mating colours still tingeing the layers of them. The first time they met, Dean remembers thinking that Cas was so expressionless. But the more time they spent together, the more that Dean watched and learned him, the easier it was to understand the subtle shifts and masks that Cas wears. He drops some of them when they’re together, relaxes and opens up and it’s awesome getting to see that and knowing Cas doesn’t do it with anyone else.

Right now, Cas isn’t wearing any mask. He’s more dressed than Dean has ever seen him – pants, tunic, even _boots_ – but he’s never been so naked. Dean can pick out and name every little emotion that flickers over his face. There aren’t any flowers growing around him right now and Dean thinks it might be because Cas has a firm grip on his powers while he was growing the flowers.

The first expression is surprise, then it’s disbelief as Cas glances down at the flowers, and when he looks back there’s something almost like fear. It’s just a flash and it’s gone again. All of that melts away into _hope_ when Dean moves to join him at the table. Far as he can tell, Cas is barely even breathing. The closer he gets, the more he sees – Cas’s hands shake until he curls them in the hem of his shirt, he lickes his lips a few times and they’re all shiny and parted and he’s wide-eyed, watching every step Dean takes. As soon as Dean’s in reach, the hope gives way to _want_ and one of Cas’s hands twitches away from his shirt, reaching out for him.

Dean swallows thickly and his mouth suddenly feels too dry. He licks his lips and Cas’s eyes track the movement – like they’ve been doing long before Dean noticed they did. This is it. This is actually fucking _it_. They both know and should he say something now? He should probably say something. But what the hell should he say?

Words keep getting stuck in his throat and Dean chooses to pull the paper out of his pocket, unfold it, and drop it on the table. Cas’s stops with his hand a few inches from Dean’s chest and he glances down. He looks up sharply and there’s colour spreading through his face and into his ears, probably going down the back of his neck too. His fingers brush the front of Dean’s shirt, a hesitating little motion as if he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to touch – which is kind of stupid and kind of sad, really.

They’ve fallen asleep together under his wings before, how could he even _think_ this isn’t something he can do? He’s allowed to touch and Dean can’t remember a time when he didn’t want him to. Dean closes his hand over Cas’s, pinning it to his chest and watching Cas go still and then relax into it, taking a step forward himself.

He’s close enough now for Cas’s wings to fold forward, an oil spill of feathers on either side of him before curling around his back and pulling him that little bit closer. Cas tilts his face into Dean’s palm when he cups his jaw, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. Dean moves in slow, leaving himself plenty of time to see the realization cross Cas’s expression. He saw when Cas understood the relevance of the ambrosia, and now he’s seeing it click that this is real, this is happening. Cas is allowed to touch. He’s allowed to kiss. He’s allowed _this_.

Cas practically falls into him. His eyes slide shut, chin lifting until their mouths bump together. It’s a little off the mark and misses half of Dean’s lips but he smiles into it. He guides Cas into the next one, and the next after that. Each press is like lightning under his skin and Dean brings his other hand up too, cradling Cas’s face between his palms as he parts his lips just enough to pull lightly at Cas’s bottom lip, and then the top. Cas’s hands slide around his chest, over his ribs and up his back until he curls his fingers into the shirt between Dean’s shoulder blades.

Dean keeps pulling back to catch a breath before ducking back in, pressing kiss after kiss to a building smile. Cas isn’t saying anything, just like Dean isn’t, but he’s making little sighs around each kiss and they sound pretty damn happy to him. He keeps his tongue to himself for now because these – yeah, these are fucking _great_ all on their own. And really, Dean wants to take this slow. He wants Cas to feel out what he’s comfortable with. This is Cas’s ‘first’ kiss and he can dictate it because Dean’s over the moon from just this.

He’s not keeping count of how many times they pull back to come together again, but Dean estimates they’re probably somewhere in the forties by the time he huffs a laugh into the next one. “We’ve been fucking idiots.”

Cas hums against his mouth, tilting his head to change the angle just slightly – like he’s feeling out all the different ways he can slot their lips together. Dean’s more than happy to let him experiment. It takes Cas a little longer to get his own voice back. “How long –?”

“Months.” He answers, not sure if Cas means when he found out about his feelings, when he realized his own, or how long it’s been since before that. That covers about all of them.  

One hand slides to the back Cas’s neck and Dean kisses away from his lips, following the stubble dusted curve of his jaw. “You?”

He shivers when Dean ghosts a kiss under his ear and makes that humming sound again. It sounds pleased and he wants to hear it more often. Dean moves his arms from being awkwardly folded between them to looping around Cas’s shoulders and pulls him flush against his chest. He tucks his face against Cas’s neck and lets his hands trail down to find that there isn’t a back to his shirt. It does up around his throat and it’s like his usual wrap in the back – which explains the tunic-belt-thing in the front. Yeah, Angel clothes are more complicated than he wants to think about right now.

“The day you made me laugh.” Cas murmurs and his cheek rubs against the side of Dean’s neck. “When I hung up on you and didn’t answer for most of the day.”

Dean remembers that, though the _when_ isn’t as specific – a while back, that’s for sure, but it really doesn’t matter. He pulls back, ready to kiss Cas again and stops when he sees him. Cas looks like he’s caught between deliriously happy and stunned stupid. His lips are a little red, a little slick, and a little swollen, and Dean can’t remember why he stopped kissing them.

“Idiots.” He mutters again and dips forward.

The grunt of agreement is all Cas gets out before he’s trying what Dean did before. This week, Dean decides, is going to be fucking _awesome_. He’s going to get to teach Cas all the different kinds of kisses. And if he’s lucky, he’ll get to show him the different ways to touch too. On Cas’s time, though. Dean’s not going to push for anything until Cas is ready – and if Dean gets a bit light headed thinking about how many of Cas’s firsts he’s going to get, that’s his own little slightly possessive secret.

When Cas’s hands slip up to push into his hair, Dean drops his to Cas’s waist, keeping him in close. It’s just when he _thinks_ he feels a swipe of tongue against his bottom lip that his stomach decides to throw down the gauntlet of war. Thing is, it’s too loud – loud enough that Dean’s pretty sure it wasn’t just him.

Cas pulls back looking a little embarrassed and he licks his lips before ducking his head. “I’m sorry. The stew smells too good and I haven’t eaten yet today.”

Dean just grins. “Yeah, me neither. D’you want to break for supper?” He lifts his eyebrows suggestively when Cas looks back up at him. “We can continue after?”

“I would like that.”

The smile the words form around is hands down, bar none, _the best_ thing that Dean has ever seen. It makes something in his chest do this fluttery, whooping thing that kind of makes it hard to breathe. Screw his stomach. He’s got months to make up for and he kisses Cas again, and again, and another for good measure before Cas’s hands are on his shoulders and his feathers rustle against his arms as they draw back to fold naturally behind Cas.

That whole ‘walking on air’ thing never really made sense to Dean until he actually has to physically leave Cas by the fire pit and go get bowls from the cave. He feels lighter than he has in years and there’s this bubbling _warm_ feeling spreading through him. If he’s ever been this happy before, he can’t remember it.

Everything only gets better because as soon as Dean’s back next to him, Cas’s wing kind of twitches out to curve around him even though Cas is kneeling next to the pot and stirring the stew. Once the bowls are out of his hands, Dean reaches for Cas’s wing and strokes over it. The feathers still haven’t been taking care of and Dean makes a mental reminder to oil them after supper. He keeps petting until Cas stands up and gives him back one of the bowls.

Cas cleans up the table before he sits down to eat. He takes all the flower pots out of the box and sets them up in a circle in the middle of the table. The box gets tucked away some place in the cave and Dean figures Cas’ll either use it as kindling or actually put stuff in it.

They sit across from each other and Dean really can’t help beaming whenever they make eye contact. Cas’s smiles aren’t nearly as big, but they’re not shy either. He still looks like he’s having trouble believe it and that’s just encouragement for Dean to stretch a leg out under the table and find Cas’s foot. He’s still wearing the boots, but they’re soft and only a little damp from the snow, so it’s not like his sock gets soaked or anything. Cas goes still and his eyes go wide, but it only takes a little coaxing for Dean to draw Cas’s foot closer to the middle of the table.

Teaching Cas the fine art of footsie is a little difficult when he’s in socks and Cas is in boots and neither of them are saying anything, but Cas’s wings aren’t really holding still so it’s all good. Dean figures the talking will happen eventually and he’s not going to rush into it. Hell, he’s happy to just figure this out as it goes along. Telling Cas was the hard part and that’s over with. It seems to be going pretty good from where he’s sitting.

And it’s still going good when Cas uses his heel to pin Dean’s foot to the floor and looks up at him. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Like four days ago? Or d’you mean three months ago when I figured it out thanks to the flowers?” Dean raises one eyebrow and Cas blushes. “Anything before that was because I didn’t know.” He shrugs and gives Cas a reassuring smile. “I tried toeing the line a few times, but I wasn’t ever _sure_ enough. You’d do something that made me think I had a chance, then turn around and say something else.”

Cas’s wings flick out a little and he shifts in his seat. It takes him another few bites of his stew before he says anything. “I knew you were physically attracted to me the day you helped me with my markings, but I didn’t think you shared my feelings.”

Dean winces. “So you _did_ know I jerked off in the car?”

“Yes.” He ducks his head and looks up at Dean in possibly the shyest way he’s ever done. “I could smell it on you when you came back. It’s why I ran out too. I didn’t want you to see my reaction to it.”

It takes a moment to click and Dean almost doesn’t know what to do with that realization. He can’t even remember if he’d hoped or thought about whether or not Cas had bolted to go jack off himself. “Dude. Did you –?”

“In Juniper.” Cas nods and pushes his bowl away, clearing his throat in the tell-tale ‘back to the subject’ manner. “Whenever you made comments like how you would ‘jump at the chance to be my mate’ – I didn’t know if you were saying it just to be kind or if you truly meant it. And you always looked so…” He waves a hand while looking for the word. “ – nervous, as if you had said something wrong. I wanted to reassure you that nothing you said or did had bothered me.”

Dean shrugs. The past is the past and he doesn’t need much of an explanation for why they weren’t able to get to this point a hell of a lot sooner. He’s only got one question for Cas right now. “How come _you_ never said anything?”

Cas doesn’t miss a beat. “I valued our friendship too much to risk ruining it.”

He pulls his foot out from under Cas’s heel and rubs the side of it up his calf. “D’you think we’ve ruined our friendship now?”

“No.” Cas smiles and reaches out to touch the closest flower – the ambrosia. “I wouldn’t say we’ve ‘ruined’ it.”

“Good.” Dean stands and grabs Cas’s bowl. “Now park your ass on the couch. I’ll clean these and get the oil, and then we’ll take care of your wings.”

For a second Cas just blinks up at him. Then his wings puff up like they’re trembling, like he’s surprised, and peonies bloom in little swatches around his feet. Dean mentally high-fives himself for knowing what they mean.

Cas lifts his arm and one wing folds forward and under it for him to run his fingers through the feathers. “I don’t have any more in the jar. I used it before I left to waterproof the coverings.”

“Well, how did you use to get it from you to the jar?” Dean has to talk over his shoulder from inside the cave. There’s a pot of water next to the spring that he uses to wash the dishes in, putting them back on their shelves to dry.

“With time and difficulty. I usually drained the glands every few days to build up the store of oil. I prefer using it from the jar, but I frequently alternate between using the stored oil and using it fresh from the glands when I’m preening.”

Dean comes up behind Cas, drying his hands on his shirt before he puts them on the back of his neck. Cas goes a little tense before he drops his chin to his chest, not stopping him as Dean trails his fingers down his spine until he can veer off and find the downy base of a wing. “We can just use it straight from the gland then. It’s under your wing, right?”

The poppies start springing up around them before Dean’s even finished probing through the soft feathers to find it. He leans down to press a kiss to the back of Cas’s head just as his fingertips find a hard, swollen little nub under the joint of the wing.

“This it?” He asks and Cas nods, his wings shifting slightly. “Is this okay?” Another nod. “Feels good?” And another. Dean follows it with a kiss to the slope of Cas’s neck. “I think it’ll be easier to do it this way if you say in the chair. How do I –?”

Instead of telling, Cas shows him. He bends his arm back, groping until he finds Dean’s wrist and follows it to until his fingers are slotting over Dean’s. It’s a process of pushing and squeezing until there’s suddenly a burst of slick oil spilling over his fingers. It’s warm and different from the kind of waxy way it is in the jar, but it’s not gross like Dean used to think it was and he’s surprisingly okay with basically having to milk Cas to get it.

He gives one more kiss to the back of Cas’s neck before he starts smoothing the oil into Cas’s feathers. Cas makes those little pleased sighs again and again as Dean rakes his fingers through his wings. They don’t really talk, but that’s okay. It’s not like the silence is uncomfortable and he’s in no rush to talk about what this whole thing is going to be like.

When Dean goes back to the gland for the fifth time, he’s mostly done the right wing. In this state, the oil spreads better than when it’s all waxy. He starts using the gland under the other wing when he moves to that one. Every time he presses his fingers into those down feathers, Dean drops a kiss to the back of Cas’s neck, his shoulder, even the top of his head and smiles at that happy humming noise.

“This is what you wanted to tell me, isn’t it?” Cas asks, looking over his shoulder after Dean drops another kiss into his hair before he moves back down his wing. “When you said we had something to talk about, it was all of this?”

“Yeah.” Dean grins at him over the edge of his wing. “Imagine how you could’ve spent those last four days if you had let me talk.”

A blush spreads down the back of Cas’s neck but he doesn’t look away. “Despite the relief I would have received from having sex instead of masturbating, I wouldn’t have wanted my first time with you to be when I’m barely able to control myself.”

“Yeah, I get that.” He bobs his head in a nod and drops his eyes back to what his hands are doing. “When do you want to – y’know – talk about that, by the way? I mean, not about what happened, but what we’re going to do? D’you want to wait or –?”

“Is it normal to wait?” Cas is still watching him when Dean looks up, but he’s got a kind of nervous edge creeping into his eyes. “This is all very new to me, Dean. I’m not naïve, but I don’t know what’s appropriate to do in a –” He stops, leaving the sentence hanging.

Dean steels himself and holds his breath while he summons up the courage to finish it for him. “Relationship.” He lets the word out with a whoosh of air. “You could say that we’ve graduated from ‘friendship’ to ‘relationship’. One of a chick-flick persuasion.”

“What does –”

“Never mind.” He waves it off and slides back up Cas’s wing to find the gland again. “How about we just do what we’ve been doing so far and play it by ear? When you’re ready and the timings right, it’ll happen. Besides, this is kinda new to me too.”

Cas’s hunches his shoulders and he presses back against Dean’s hands with another little throaty noise. “How so?”

“I can count the number of ‘relationships’ I’ve had on one hand. All of them started with sex and none of them got me feeling like –” Dean stops and leans forward, pressing his forehead to the space between his wings. “Like how you’ve got me feeling, Cas.”

There’s other things he wants to say, but they’re all getting tangled up together at the base of his throat. He wants to tell Cas that he hasn’t had sex in months because he didn’t want anyone but him. Dean wants to tell him that he’ll wait for whenever he’s ready because he’s waited this long just to get to kiss him again – and at some point he’s going to have to tell Cas about the drunk kiss – and he can hold off on sex for a little longer. All that and more is pushing at his insides but they can’t get out.

Words and feelings just aren’t his strong suit. Dean’s too used to clamming up and shutting down. He sighs when Cas reaches back and slowly threads his fingers into his hair. “I like that plan. Letting it happen when it happens.”

Dean smiles against Cas’s skin and stands up from his crouch to lean over Cas’s shoulder and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Good. You just do what you want, okay? Kissing, touching, whatever. I’m game for anything at anytime.”

He’s going to go right on ignoring the little voice in the back of his head hoping that everything he’s not going to push for happens before Cas goes back to the clan. Right now the future is in the wind and Dean’s not sure when he’s going to get to see Cas again after this. It could be months, half a year, a _whole_ year. He doesn’t know and it’s not exactly something he’s eager to think about. But if he’s going to be doing that whole long distance relationship thing, he wants an actual memory to look back on instead of just his fantasies on those night when he knows he’ll be missing Cas.

x

As Dean finishes smoothing the oil through Castiel’s feathers, a sensation that never ceases to send his heart to a painful speed in his chest, their conversation slips back to the topic of his mating season. Despite the topic, talking with Dean is doing wonders to keep him from focusing on the bolt of pleasure so intense that it almost borders on pain whenever he gets oil from the gland. It’s never like this when he does it himself.

“But if you’re still getting off in the end, why does it matter if it’s with your hand or with another person?” This seems to be what Dean is stuck on the most.

“It’s something more complicated than I think I can explain.” Castiel looks along his wing to where Dean is smoothing his hands over the primaries. “It’s something that happens on a physical and a psychological level. Are you as satisfied masturbating as you are when you have sex?”

Dean’s silence is his answer and Castiel relaxes. He’s not uncomfortable talking about this, but there are some things that he simply doesn’t have an explanation for. The drive to understand his biological impulses has never been one of his priorities. But now that there’s the potential that he might very well have a mate come next winter, perhaps he should look into learning more about it when he returns to the clan.

That’s a line of thought he shakes from immediately. Castiel doesn’t want to think about that at the moment. He’d rather revel in this new _change_ to their relationship. He closes his eyes and recalls earlier while Dean checks to make sure he got all the feathers. Every time he thinks about it, every time he remembers this shift between them, Castiel feels dizzy and overjoyed all at once.

This isn’t some fevered dream left over from the mating season, this is _real._ If he wants to wrap Dean in his wings and hold him tight, he can. If he wants to trace the edges of him with his hands, he can. If he wants to press kisses to his mouth and map every freckle with his lips, he can. It’s an exhilarating feeling and one that Castiel isn’t quite sure how to handle quite yet. This is the reason, perhaps, why he’s appreciates the conversation they’re having now. It may be on a different topic than they’re used to talking about, but they’re talking and he’s used to this – used to an easy conversation with Dean.

The moment he’d kissed Dean (or had Dean kissed him?), the ability to think properly had left him. Castiel had given himself completely to the shiver in his bones whenever Dean’s mouth pressed against his, lips moving and pulling and pushing and he still hasn’t grasped exactly how he managed to continue breathing through it all. He still feels a little delirious just thinking about it and his thoughts scatter whenever Dean kisses the back of his neck.

Castiel waits until Dean has washed his hands and used a damp cloth to clean his back of any errant oil before he turns around and catches him by the wrist. Without question, Dean leans down and his free hand finds its way to cup Castiel’s jaw again. These kisses are as sweet as the first and they leave him hungry for more. He’s seen other Hamiaah kiss before. He _knows_ there’s more that can be done and he wants to have them all – he’s just not sure how to get them.

“I know you said you wouldn’t want the first to be during the mating season, but it would’ve been _so awesome_.” Dean grins against his mouth and Castiel can feel heat creeping into his face. “Ten straight days of sex? How great would that be?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He only laughs and leans down again, catching Castiel’s mouth in a harder kiss than before, a hint of teeth catching at his bottom lip. “There’s always next year.”

The mere fact that Dean is planning – is expecting – to still be with him in a year’s time leaves Castiel stunned and speechless, though he can feel another smile slide into place. He allows Dean to pull him to his feet and lead him to the othil. They’re barely seated side by side before Castiel is turning to face Dean, pulling him by his shoulder and drag him back in to kiss him again. Kisses are surprisingly addicting, or maybe it’s just Dean he finds fascinating – like the taste of him when he licks his lips afterward. Despite the winter chill outside, Dean is warm to the touch even through his layers of clothing. His hands are steady and sure wherever they choose to rest on Castiel – either in his hair, against his neck, settled on his shoulders or his hip.

Castiel is certain, no matter how often they kiss, that he will never have enough of them. It’s personal and intimate and knowing that there’s more itches at him. These first kisses are wonderful, but – A sudden, guilty, realization strikes him and Castiel pulls back from their current kiss with a small gasp.

“What? what is it? What’d I do?” Dean immediately pulls his hands back from where one had been resting on Castiel’s knee and the other the back of his neck.

He takes them between his own and squeezes Dean’s fingers. “It’s nothing you did.” Castiel has to tell Dean. It’s not right that their relationship evolve with this secret between them. Castiel just hopes it won’t be so upsetting that Dean will want to leave. “I have to tell you something.”

A frown creases Dean’s forehead. “I’m kinda riding a really good high here. Is it a good something or a bad something?”

“That depends on how you take it.” It takes more courage than he’s willing to admit to look Dean in the eye. “This isn’t the first time that we’ve kissed.”

It is, perhaps, a little unusual that Dean looks more nervous than he does surprised. He opens and closes his mouth a few times before Castiel leans in to kiss him gently. Dean relaxes into the kiss, but he still has a worried frown when Castiel pulls back again – though he doesn’t move far.

Castiel raises a hand to Dean’s jaw, his thumb resting under his bottom lip. “When you were sick, the first medicine I tried to give you was a tea that tasted of mint.” A little pressure applied to his chin is all it takes for Dean to open his mouth and Castiel leans in until every word brushes his lips. “You wouldn’t take it from the cup and I had to give it to you like this.”

Dean’s eyes go wide as Castiel swallows his next breath and seals their mouths together in example. It’s only for a moment and then he draws away. “I would have told you before, but I wasn’t sure how you would take it.”

He isn’t expecting Dean to laugh, a nervous little chuckle he directs at his lap where their hands are folded together. “That wasn’t our first kiss either, Cas.” His voice is quiet, almost a whisper. “I kissed you before that.”

Castiel’s wings flare, feathers dragging sharply against the floor and his left wing nearly knocks the decorative sculpture from the stump at the end of the othil. “You – _when_?”

“The night you were drunk.” Dean looks up at him demurely, shame filling his expression as he explains quickly exactly what happened that night. The words paint a picture that Castiel thinks he might vaguely remember, but it doesn’t feel like a solid memory. When he’s done, Dean runs a hand through his hair and looks away. “I shouldn’t have done it and, yeah, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. For not letting you explain yourself then. If I had known –” He leans forward and Dean meets him for another gentle kiss. His hindsight is perhaps more acute than most. There are so many things that could be different right now if both of them had just said something sooner.

From Dean’s description of that night, Castiel knows he kissed him differently than he’s kissing him now. Without breaking from the gentle slide of their lips, he curls his fingers in Dean’s shirt and pulls as he leans back. Dean makes a startled noise against his mouth but he follows until they’re laying back against the pillow and the sleeping bag. It’s a little uncomfortable without more support for his head and back because of the joints of his wings, but Castiel can easily ignore it.

“Show me.” He murmurs. “I showed you, now you show me.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Dean grins and Castiel promptly forgets everything else the moment Dean’s tongue slips past his lips to slide against his own.

There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that this kiss now is nowhere near as heated as the one from the night he was drunk, but Castiel ignores it. He’s not looking for heat or desire right now. What he wants is to learn. He wants to memorize the taste of Dean’s mouth and disregard the hint of broth still there, he wants to dedicate to memory the texture of his tongue and study every minute twist and flick and movement. Castiel wants to learn how to kiss Dean and take his breath away, much like he’s doing to him now.

He cannot be held responsible for the disappointed noise that escapes him when Dean finally draws away with a drag of his teeth over his bottom lip. They’re both breathing heavily and Dean seems inordinately smug as he helps Castiel sit back up again. He also seems to be having trouble with looking away from Castiel’s mouth and it’s a feeling he understands well – especially if his lips look anywhere near as tempting as Dean’s does.

The heat gathering in his gut is nothing compared to the fire Castiel had suffered through for the last ten days. He wants to touch Dean and be touched by him with mouth and hands and the whole press of his body. But this urge is contradicted by his desire to go slow, to learn all of Dean in pieces. He’ll settle for kisses today and tomorrow – tomorrow can hold whole new lessens for them.

Right now, he needs a distraction before he ends up sitting in Dean’s lap to pin him to the othil and kiss him with everything he just learned. He takes a deep breath and points to the coloured box still sitting to one side of the table. “What is that?”

Dean glances over and his smile grows wider. He jumps to his feet, scrambling to get the box before dropping back down again and holding it out to him. “It’s your Christmas present. Do Angels celebrate the holidays like we do?”

“We don’t, but I know of it. You didn’t have to get me anything, Dean.” Castiel still smiles and accepts the box. He sits with his legs crossed, facing Dean with the box in his lap. “I didn’t get anything for you.”

“Yeah, you did.” Dean leans in and brushes his lips against Castiel’s lightly. “Now open the damn thing. I’ve had it for a month and I wanna see you open it.”

He watches intently as Castiel carefully undoes the ribbon and unthreads it from around the box, setting it aside. The bright wrapping is a glossy paper held down with sticky strips Dean says is ‘tape’. Dean makes huffing, impatient noises when Castiel picks at the tape, trying to peel open the edges without tearing the colourful paper. This is his first Christmas gift and he wants to keep it.

There’s another box under the paper and the lid folds up to reveal more coloured paper, though this is thin and far more delicate than the other had been. Castiel unfolds those carefully and his wings twitch excitedly when he finally unveils the gift. As soon as he lifts it from the box, Dean takes the box and the papers away, dropping them somewhere behind him.

It’s an article of clothing, much like his mabza, only lighter. The fabric is soft to touch and Castiel likes the design stitched into it, especially the length of blue around the collar. Dean is practically radiating excitement as he takes it from him and helps to put it over his head, making sure it doesn’t bunch on the joints of his wings.

“It’s a poncho.” He explains, smoothing his hands over Castiel’s shoulders. “Made from wool, so I figured you wouldn’t have a problem with that since it’s a natural fiber and no animals got hurt. Do you like it?”

With his shirt on underneath it feels like he’s wearing too much and it’s a little too warm. He fumbles his hands up under the poncho to his throat, finding where the collar ties at the back of his neck and undoing it. Next is the tie at his waist and he slips that out of the knot easily, pulling his arms free of the sleeves as they fall from his shoulders. Dean stares at him the entire time and Castiel is aware of the heat in his eyes when he removes the shirt complete and tosses it onto one of the chairs.

That’s much better. “Yes, Dean. I love it, thank you.” He muffles Dean’s reply with an appreciative kiss – one that doesn’t end.

He’s not entirely sure _how_ , but Castiel ends up laying over Dean, his hands firmly locked in his hair as he tries out everything he’s learned from him today. Dean’s hands are warm on his back, slipped under the poncho not long after they fell back like this. His fingers stroke absent designs over Castiel’s skin. The kisses started with an edge of heat, but the longer they kissed, the slower they became until they’re stopped completely by an embarrassed yawn from Dean.

“Sorry, Cas.” He mumbles sheepishly. “I didn’t get much sleep over the last few days. Now I’m all warm and happy and full and happy. Makes me sleepy, but I want to stay up and kiss you more.”

“I understand. I didn’t fare much better for sleep either.” Castiel murmurs, dipping his head to press another kiss to Dean’s mouth. “I’d be willing to go to bed now if you’ll agree to share my nest with me again. And I fully intend to kiss you there, and in the morning too.”

“As if I’d sleep anywhere else after this.” Dean grins and lets Castiel pull him to his feet.

While they prepare for bed, Dean needs to use one of the miswak sticks to clean his teeth. All of his clothing and bags are still in his car on the main road and Castiel promises that they’ll go move it and bring everything here in the morning after breakfast. It’s not until they’re climbing up into the nest, his new poncho folded carefully over the back of a chair, that Castiel realizes this also means that Dean has none of his sleeping clothes.

“Think y’got enough blanket up here, Cas?” Dean says over his shoulder as Castiel pulls himself up to join him. “I think you could supply a whole hotel with what you have here.”

“I don’t like sleeping in anything more than my qaa. The extra blankets keep me warm.” He shrugs, already peeling his pants off the moment he’s fully in the nest. His boots were kicked off before Dean was even on the table. “I also need them to keep my wings warm. I’ll show you in a moment.”

When he looks up, Dean is down one shirt and his undershorts. His pants, socks, and other shirts are folded over one of the lengths of vine that stretches away from the main part of the nest. He’s watching Castiel and there’s no quickly glancing away anymore to hide the heat in his eyes – the heat Castiel should have noticed was there before.

Dean watches him pull the blankets apart and slip in under the bottom most one. Castiel lays on his side and pulls that blanket up to his chest, making sure it doesn’t bunch uncomfortably against his wing joints. It takes a little more maneuvering – and help from Dean – to get the next blanket over his wings without catching the feathers.

Unlike when he sleeps on his own, Castiel fold ones of his wings forward, arcing over where Dean placed his pillow. It’s the only thing that he brought up from below when Castiel told him there were plenty of blankets already in the bed – though most of them are used as padding instead. Dean slides into place under his wing and the blanket, his feet cold against Castiel’s shins.

It’s the first time they’re sharing the same blanket. Despite the cold feet, Dean’s side is warm against Castiel’s chest. As they settle, Castiel presses closer and Dean makes room for him to curl against his side and rest his head on his chest. Maybe tomorrow he’ll ask Dean to sleep without a shirt. He’d prefer to leech the heat from Dean’s skin than have a shirt between them.

“Hey.” Dean mumbles, jostling Castiel’s shoulders where his arm is loosely curled around them. “Where’s my goodnight kiss?”

Castiel smiles and pushes himself up onto his elbow. Dean lifts his head from the pillow to meet him part way. It’s closed and lingering but it leaves tingling all over. Once he’s back in place against Dean’s chest, Castiel starts humming. He intended a lullaby from the clan, but the tune is a familiar one that Dean recognizes and huffs a small laugh at.

“I don’t think a bed of roses would be all that comfortable.” Dean says the words into Castiel’s hair. “We could try it some time, if y’want, but –” He breaks around a yawn. “Not right now.”

He smiles into Dean’s shirt, curling his fingers in the fabric and carefully edging his leg over Dean’s to lay between them. Castiel continues humming until Dean’s breathing evens out into the soft swells of slumber and he lets those lull him to sleep too. It’s quite possibly the happiest, most comfortable sleep he’s ever had.

Castiel usually wakes the moment the sun touches the mountains. There are few times he sleeps in late. There's so much to do and only so many hours in the day to do it. The next morning he wakes up while the sky is still dark and lit with the stars. He doesn’t need to move the cover to know this. It’s something he can feel and even if he’s a little off, he doesn’t mind.

There's a rising-falling heat under his cheek and for a moment he's concerned until he remembers. Dean's breathing is still even beneath him, his breaths fluttering the hairs laying on Castiel’s forehead. He's warm and welcoming, one arm folded around Castiel's shoulders and the other laid lightly over the arm he has thrown over Dean's stomach. One of his legs is thrown over Dean's and Castiel has never woken so tightly knit with him before.

Turning his head, Castiel props his chin against Dean’s chest and he watches him sleep. It takes a few minutes for a poisonous thought to creep into his mind. They don’t happen often, but they do. He thought them when he first realized that Dean considered him a friend and he thought them when realized his feelings for him.

Does he deserve this? Does he deserve the warmth Dean brings into his life? Whether or not his status was restored, whether or not the disaster of fifty years ago was truly his fault, there are still one hundred and thirty one lives that were lost because of _his_ decision. Too many souls taken too soon and the weight of them is on his shoulders.  

After all the lives Castiel's decision cost, does deserve to have something like this? Does he deserve to have someone like Dean? He was supposed to live alone and die alone, out here in the woods with nothing but his plants and Silvanus. It's not the path he would have chosen for his life, but it was the one that hurt the least. It’s the fate he was due for the horrible mistake he made.

He never expected Dean to stumble into that path and utterly change its course. The only times he feels truly lonely now are when Dean leaves. Even back at the clan, surrounded by so many people and with Balthazar, he still feels alone.

Dean has chosen Castiel. He keeps coming back to here, to _him_ , and after yesterday he knows why. But Castiel is greedy. He wants _more_. He wants Dean here all the time. He wants Dean to bring the laughter and the light, the warmth and now this new change to their relationship. He doesn’t want to have to leave it in a week’s time and return to the clan. Maybe it will be easier to handle knowing that Dean loves him to.

He curls closer, moving the hand pinned between them until he's almost laying on top of Dean. Castiel presses his face into Dean's neck and wiggles his hand under his shoulders. If it weren’t for the blanket laying heavy over his wings, he would fold his wings in and forward, cutting off the world so it's just him and Dean and at least for a little while he could be selfish.

The hand that strokes up his side is as surprising as the voice that rumbles through the chest pressed against his own.

"Go back to sleep, Cas." Dean murmurs into his hair. "I'm not going anywhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers....
>
>> \- Peonies: bashfulness  
> \- Red poppies: pleasure


	31. Polaris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mee-kah-loh-zod.” He repeats, pressing gentle kisses to Dean’s mouth between every syllable. “It means ‘mighty light’. You have given me far more than you know, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Aside from Cas’s weird attempt to actually become the blanket at ass o’clock in the morning, Dean actually slept pretty damn well. He was warm, and comfortable, and really, _really_ happy. Waking up with Cas practically on top of him, holding onto him like he’s scared Dean’s going to disappear into thin air, yeah, that didn’t really bother him. Especially when Cas leaned up to kiss him soft and slow before they both fell asleep again.

Dean’s got no idea what time it is now, but he’s okay with that. His watch is tucked in the pocket of his jeans and that’s too far out of his reach for him to want to try and get it. With Cas breathing hot air against his pulse in steady puffs, trying to get his watch is actually one of the last things he wants to do right now. Staying here with Cas is top of the list and going to take a piss is close up in second. He’s really not looking forward to having to piss into the snow. Maybe it’s time for him to start convincing Cas to build some kind of outhouse.

For now, he supposes he could wait until Cas wakes up proper again. Only, he doesn’t know when that’s going to be. Well, he can hold it until then and amuse himself with the wing draped across his chest. Carefully, Dean extracts his arm out from underneath everything and curls his fingers over the top of Cas’s wing, raking them through the feathers. If Cas wasn’t laying on his other arm, he’d get that one going to. It’s a little tingly and numb, but he doesn’t really want to move it from around Cas’s shoulders anytime soon.

On the third stroke along the bone, Cas actually _groans_ against his shoulder. It’s probably one of the most amazing sounds Dean’s ever heard. He strokes again, touching everywhere he can reach until lips brush the side of his throat and Cas’s sleep-thick voice grumbles against his shirt.

“Stop that.”

“Really? You want me to stop?” Dean grins and twists his fingers in a certain spot, just under the bend where Cas’s wing starts to slope down toward the longer feathers.

It earns him a small noise of surprise and Cas’s wing pulls out of his grip hard enough it sends the blankets on top of it scattering. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Why?” Dean turns onto his side a little, sliding Cas’s head from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow so he can look down at him. He can’t roll Cas onto his back completely because of his wings, but he can definitely get a little leverage on him. “You’ve never had a problem with me touching them before.”

Cas blinks up at him, eyes a little unfocused. The moment they clear up after muffling a yawn under his hand, he smiles. It’s a small curve of his lips, a little crooked – higher on one side than the other, but it’s fucking _shining_ in his eyes. Dean knows ‘happy’ when he sees it. He gives Cas a smile of his own and Cas reaches up to drag his thumb against his bottom lip and trace his fingers along his cheek in a touch way more intimate than Dean’s used to. Dean has a sneaking suspicion that Cas is finding all the constellations in his freckles.

“My wings are sensitive when you dig your fingers in like that.” Cas murmurs, his fingers sliding to his ear. Dean raises an eyebrow in question. That’s how he’s always touched Cas’s wings. “I never said anything about it before. If I did, you might have stopped touching them.”

“Hm, doubt that.” There are very few things in this world that would get him to stop touching Cas’s wings. They’re too awesome to _not_ touch.

He dips his head to catch that smile with a kiss, enjoying the happy fluttering feeling he gets whenever he kisses Cas. It’s like a little thrill of exhilaration making his stomach do cartwheels around his insides. He kind of hopes kissing Cas will always feel like that. Like it’s still so new and awesome and he’s actually allowed to do it now.

Dean doesn’t even get a whole ten seconds to worry about Cas objecting to his morning breath. He’s barely pulled back from the little closed mouth smile-catcher and Cas is already sitting up to follow after it, tongue sliding over Dean’s bottom lip as he keeps going, keeps pushing until Dean’s on his back and Cas is half on top of him again with one leg thrown over his. Cas seems just as okay with the morning breath as Dean is and he’s really got no reason to stop kissing, to stop letting Cas keep practicing and occasionally tripping him up with a new trick he hasn’t shown him yet.

The only thing that gets them to stop is when Dean’s hands slide far enough down Cas’s sides to find the waistband of his loincloth and he realizes that Cas is very much on the verge of being naked. Granted, that’s nothing new. What _is_ new is that if Dean gets a boner, he doesn’t have to hide it. He doesn’t have to make an excuse to go to the car and jerk off in silence. He could take care of it right here – but is Cas ready for it? He hasn’t made any kind of move to get anywhere near Dean’s lower half yet.

“Cas.” Dean murmurs, breaking away to press kisses along his jaw. “Cas, man, y’gotta let me up.”

“I quite like you where you are.”

“Yeah?” He laughs at the rumble in his ear as Cas turns his head to copy him. “Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want me peeing in the bed.”

Cas huffs, but pushes up and away, taking the blankets with him when he sits back. Dean hates the cold that attacks everywhere Cas had been, but it’s gone in a snap when Cas starts stretching. His wings spread and arc up toward the roof while he laces his fingers together and raises his arms above his head. He can’t help reaching out and smoothing his palm over the small of Cas’s back or avoiding his wings when he sits up to press kisses to the strip of skin between them. Now that he’s allowed to do it, Dean can’t stop – can’t stop touching, can’t stop kissing, can’t stop wanting to be as close to Cas as is physically possible.

“I thought you had to go relieve yourself?” Cas looks over his shoulder, all smug and amused and Dean gets his knees under him to give him enough height on Cas that he can lean over and kiss him proper.

It takes them ten more minutes to get dressed enough to even think about getting down from the nest. Dean tries not to hate the clothes Cas puts on, but he kinda does. Even though he looks good dressed up, Dean’s really used to him being half naked. It’s a shame for him to get all covered up after how long he spends doing his markings. At least it’s only his pants for now.

Having to put on boots, a jacket and a hat just to go take a piss seems kind of ridiculous to Dean, but he doesn’t complain. Cas gets started on breakfast before he’s even outside. Since all the meat is in Dean’s car, they’re just having some omelets with veggies diced in. Dean figures they’re not going to bother with the cooler for the meat. The cave is cool enough in the back that if they put the meat in the vegetable hole, it should stay cold. Hell, they could probably still shove it in the cooler, grab some snow, and pack it in there.

Dean has to fight the urge to try and write his name in the snow. It’s a hell of a temptation, but he toughs it out and washes his hands the moment he’s back inside. Cas still hasn’t put on the poncho or a shirt and Dean really can’t be blamed for how easy it is to warm his cold fingers in the downy feathers around the base of Cas’s wings. He could probably be held accountable for how the omelets get a little burned, since Cas turns his attention from those to him. The kisses come so easy now, so natural between them that Dean’s almost forgotten they haven’t been doing this all along.

Eating breakfast and cleaning up happens faster than Dean expected. He’s brushing his teeth before he knows it, wondering why Cas is pulling on his tunic and coat. It makes sense when he heads out with a mutter about ‘relieving himself’. It’s the perfect chance for them to go to the car, actually. If Cas comes back in and strips down to his pants again, Dean might not be able to keep from pulling him down on the couch and showing Cas the glory that is necking.

He meets Cas outside, hat in place and his mitt only on his left hand. “C’mon. We’re going to get the crap from the car and move her in.” He holds out his right hand and wiggles his fingers.

Cas stares at it for a moment before he undoes the string that keeps his mitten tight around his wrist and pulls it off. Dean takes it and shoves it in his other pocket before linking their fingers. As soon as their palms are pressed together, Cas’s feathers fan out and he stares down at their hands. Dean grins at him and pulls Cas closer, catches him mid-smile with a kiss, and shoves their hands into his free pocket to keep them warm.

They walk side by side down the path and Cas doesn’t seem bothered by the cold at all. Dean knows his cheeks and nose are getting red, but Cas’s cheeks are barely pink. The only time he lets go of Cas’s hand and gives him back his glove is when they split up at the main road. He gets in the car and lets her warm up for a minute or two before he pulls her through the opening Cas made by moving the tree. Cas refuses the ride to the clearing and he runs ahead again.

Dean’s barely out of the car once she’s parked and shut off before Cas is in his space and grinning. His face is a little more red, flushed from the brisk run, and Dean is more than happy to let him push him up against the side of the car and kiss him. Cold lips warm up quick, but the kissing doesn’t last long – not with the metal frame of the Impala bleeding cold through his jacket from his shoulders to his ass.

“Let’s get this stuff back inside first and then we can kiss more, okay?” He pulls back and grins. “I’d rather not get frostbite on my ass the first day I’m out here.”

“That would be quite the shame.” Cas mumbles, leaning in again and Dean lets him have one more kiss before he actually pushes him back. His wings twitch and Cas doesn’t look all that happy with stopping, but Dean just grins and cocks his head to the side.

“Help me with this stuff and when we get back I’ll show you something nice.”

That gets a bright eyed child-at-Christmas look and Cas’s wings spread a little again. He doesn’t ask what Dean’s going to show him, or even demand any hints. Cas just reaches around him and pulls open the back door. Dean shoulders his back pack and passes Cas the duffle bag. It’s got the bacon, chicken and ground beef wrapped in plastic bags inside. Plus a few different kinds of snacks and a dozen books he found at a garage sale. At a nickel apiece, they were practically a steal.

When they get back, Cas strips off his coat and shirt like he can’t get out of them fast enough. Dean half expects him to pounce the moment they’ve got the cover tied down again, but Cas leaves him with the bags to start messing around with the fire and getting the biggest metal pot he owns from the cave. Dean busies himself with putting away all the stuff while Cas makes a few trips with the water jug to fill up the pot.

His curiosity gets the best of him when Cas brings out the bowl with the soap root in it and a couple cloths. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to take a bath.”

“You want to do a wipe down right _now_?” He stops stacking the books on the stump at the end of the couch and looks up. “But I was going to show you something nice.” He’s not pouting, he’s _not_.

Cas doesn’t look up from checking the water and his wings do this twitchy little dance against his back before they fan out a little. “Is it something you can show me while we bathe?”

“Well, yeah. It’s easier without shirts on, actually.” Dean stands and runs a hand through his hair.

He was planning on showing Cas hickeys while committing to memory all the little places on his neck and shoulders – and chest, if Cas is okay with it – that make him twitch. He wants to find all those spots and learn firsthand what sounds Cas makes when he puts his mouth to them. Of course he’s not going to push Cas any further than he wants to go, but so far Cas is only doing what Dean’s done. The kissing is fucking _great_ and Cas is gets better every time they kiss – and they’ve been doing _a lot_ of kissing since late afternoon yesterday – but it’s not really pushing if he keeps it above the belt, right?

“If you don’t want to join me, you’re welcome to do something else. I can’t wash my clothes as easily during winter and I prefer keeping myself as clean as possible to reduce how often I need to wash them.” Cas explains, shrugging and glancing down at the cloth in his hand. “And –” He stops.

Dean crosses around the table to get up in Cas’s personal space, forcing his arms apart to make room for himself. “And what?”

Cas looks up at him, eyes bright and wide and his feathers keep rustling, like he’s nervous. “And I assume what you’re going to show me involves kissing places that aren’t my mouth.”

“Bingo.” He grins and dips forward to plant a quick one on him. He brings a hand up from Cas’s waist to tap two fingers under his ear before dragging them under his jaw and down his throat. “I want to find what makes you tick, Cas. I could use my hands, yeah, but it feels better when I do it with my mouth.”

“For you, or for me?”

“You can be the judge of that. I fully expect you to be taking notes and be prepared to show your work.” Dean can’t help the stupid grin. He hasn’t had the chance to learn someone like this in a long time. It’s always been one night stands where the whole reason for it was just to get off. Even if he’s always made it a point to make sure his partner is having a good time, a one night stand lacks in everything he wants to give to Cas.

“All the more reason for us to bathe.” Cas murmurs, leaning in as he pulls Dean’s hand away from where it’s resting against his collarbone. “I don’t want you kissing my skin and thinking it’s dirty.”

He has to wrestle the laugh back down, pushing that urge away. Dean closing the space between them and talking around the kisses. “I didn’t mind the morning breath. What makes you think I’m going to worry about a little sweat? Besides, I wanna taste _you_ , not the soap.”

“Then we won’t use the soap. Just water to wipe down and keep fresh.”

Dean hums into Cas’s mouth. It gets hard for them to talk after that, intent on memorizing the rest of their mouths that they haven’t already. Cas is still the one who breaks it though, stepping away to pull the pot off the grill so the water doesn’t get toohot. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets and leans a hip against the table, watching Cas dip the end of a cloth into the water and touching it to check the temperature.

“Are we getting naked or are we doing this with our underwear on?” His mouth spits out the question before letting his brain double check it and Dean nearly has to jump out of the way when Cas’s wings snap out in surprise.

Peonies and coriander sprout around Cas’s feet before his wings fold back into place and he looks over his shoulder at Dean. He’s got the elevator eyes going, glancing over Dean from head to toe. It’s the kind of look that makes Dean feel warm all over because holy _Christ_ , Cas is actually considering they walk around in their birthday suits. Dean sorta feels like that would be moving too fast, and at the same time he thinks they’ve gone slow enough.

They’ve been basically dating since – he doesn’t want to say since the first time he ever left Cas’s place, but it’s damn close to that. Maybe the second time. The only thing they haven’t done is bring in the physical aspects and actually tell each other how they feel. Though, Cas was telling him long before Dean ever got the message. But that’s what happens when he says it in a language Dean doesn’t know. Now they’ve checked one of those off and there’s just one more step to go. If they’ve been emotionally dancing around for months, does jumping each other’s bones the day after they’re ‘official’ mean they’re moving too fast?

All these thoughts that shouldn’t be this confusing are one of the many reasons Dean’s been avoiding _relationships_ since high school. Cassie was a fluke, but she was one of those sex-first-relationship-later girls that Dean’s romantic history seems to be full of. Everything with Cas has been backwards and Dean doesn’t want to fuck this up. He doesn’t want to go too fast, but he doesn’t want to go too slow.

Cas’s eyes settle on his face, head tilting slightly as he gets that look like he can see right through Dean. Sometimes he really thinks Cas can actually read his mind.

“Leave them on.” He nods, as if that settles it and looks back down at the pot. His feathers start to fluff up and he clears his throat. “For now. When we wash down again tomorrow, or the next day, we’ll do without them.”

“Sounds like a plan.” There’s an odd mix of disappointment and relief playing leap frog in his stomach and Dean tries to ignore it in favour of popping the button on his jeans.

He turns around to put his pants over a chair and pulls his shirt over his head. The warm cloth against his back before he’s even put his shirt on the chair is an unexpected but not unwelcome surprise. Dean looks over his shoulder and Cas looks fascinated, focused entirely on where he’s smoothing the cloth over Dean’s shoulders and dragging his fingers through the water after it.

Dean lets his chin drop to his chest and makes a pleased groan when Cas moves the warm cloth over the back of his neck. It feels awesome – not to hot, not too cold, not too wet. Cas takes his hand and leads him back to the water. He moves the pot to the table and Dean picks up a cloth of his own, soaking it and wringing it out while gesturing for Cas to turn around.

They don’t say anything, barely even make any sounds, but they’re learning each other and that doesn’t need words. Cas finds out Dean’s a little ticklish along his ribs, and Dean discovers that rubbing at Cas’s shoulders a little makes him go weak in the knees. When he turns around for Cas to do his front, it’s like he makes it his mission to feel out every scar on his stomach and sides. The only thing that has Cas coming to a dead stop is when the cloth swipes across the tattoo on his chest.

Cas’s eyes go tight when he traces his fingers over the mark and Dean doesn’t like that look. He doesn’t like it anymore than he liked getting the tattoo in the first place. But it’s what his dad had wanted and what John wants, he gets.

“Sorry.” He murmurs, catching Cas’s hands and pulling them away from it.

“Knowing its meaning –” His lips press together, cutting off the rest of the sentence before he looks up at him again, an unhappy frown pulling at his mouth. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Dean kind of wants to kick himself for forgetting about the stupid tattoo. Of course Cas isn’t going to be comfortable with the mark of an Angel hunter being paraded around in front of him. He kind of wishes he never told Cas what it was. Better yet, he wishes he had the balls to tell his dad off when he’d taken him to the tattoo shop to get it done.

“I’ll save up to get it removed or tattooed over. I’ll just wear a shirt for now, okay?” He’s already turning and reaching for his shirt.

“Can I do it?” Cas pulls him back and he puts his hand over the tattoo. “If I mix up some dye now, would you let me paint over it? I don’t want you to cover up, but it – it’s uncomfortable, seeing it and knowing what it means.”

“You don’t want to be reminded about what I was any more than I do.” Dean leans forward, his forehead bumping Cas’s. “Don’t worry, I get it.”

Cas tilts his chin up for a kiss and Dean hasn’t been able to deny him one yet. He fumbles blindly to dip his cloth in the water and wring it out without taking his mouth away from Cas’s. The water is still warm and Cas gives an appreciative groan when Dean drags the warm cloth along the sides of his neck and throat, swiping it slowly over his collarbone.

“You got any issues with your throat?” He asks, kissing away along Cas’s jaw. He’s been with some people who don’t like having such a vulnerable part of them touched.

“I trust you.” Cas breathes against his ear.

Dean wastes no time in wiping clean every path he plans to take with his mouth. He starts with the soft spot under Cas’s ear, nuzzling it slightly with his nose before pressing a kiss there. Cas’s hands come up to rest on his hips and Dean gauges Cas’s reactions by the grip of his fingers and the little hitching gasps in his breathing.

This isn’t something new to Cas. He may never have had it done to him, but Dean can still remember when Cas pushed him down on the table and mouthed at his jaw. He can still remember what Cas’s lips feel like on his ear. Either Cas has seen someone else do that before, or he’s read it in one of the books, or it was some natural instinct – Dean doesn’t know and doesn’t care. The point still stands that no one has done this to Cas before and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t show him how awesome it really is.

Cas’s wings fold forward again, circling around him and Dean smiles against his neck. The waters gone cold by the time Dean’s done mapping Cas’s throat with his tongue. There’s a certain thrill about feeling his pulse kick up a few notches under his lips. He hasn’t left any hickeys – not yet, since they haven’t really talked about that – but he definitely thought about it when he closed his mouth over the hinge of Cas’s jaw and gave an experimental little suck.

Dean puts that down on his list of things to talk about later. Apparently later is only a few minutes away.

While the water heats up again over the fire, Dean leans back against the edge of the table with Cas firmly planted between his legs. He tilts his head back and rubs circles on Cas’s hipbones with his thumbs, holding tight while Cas takes his turn. It’s been _way_ too long since someone did this to him and Dean can’t help the little groan when Cas finds the hollow of his throat and flicks his tongue over it. Cas is liberal with his hands, spreading them over Dean’s shoulders and down his spine to curl them around his hips and back up his sides to skate his fingertips over his stomach and chest.

“How do you feel –” Cas pauses to experiment with dragging his teeth over Dean’s collarbone. Fuck, he’s a fast learner. “– about marks?”

“Depends what kind.” He shrugs and lifts a hand to pull Cas’s mouth back to his, the rest of his answer finding its way out between kisses. “Biting? Not so crazy about it. Hickeys? I’m down for that. Scratching? In moderation. You?”

Cas pulls out of the kisses when the water starts to hiss. It’s going to be too hot now, but Dean doesn’t mind waiting for it to cool a little. That just means more make out time. With the pot set aside, Cas comes back to lean against Dean’s chest with his arms wrapped loosely around his waist and their foreheads together. Dean could get used to this.

“Hamiaah are very – I’m not sure if this is the appropriate word, but we are ‘protective’. We put our clan or family symbol on everything that is ours. And when we take a mate we like to make sure everyone knows not to touch them.” Cas talks in a quiet hush that’s sending all sorts of shivers down Dean’s spine. “During the commah ceremony –”

“The what?”

“Koh-em-mah-hoh. It means ‘bound together’.”

“Oh, you’re talking about a wedding?” He shoves away the swooping nervous feeling in his stomach before jumping to conclusions.

Dean can feel the frown on Cas’s forehead against his own. “Yes, that is what you would call it. During the marriage ceremony, we customarily accept a new marking from our commah. Something they come up with themselves.” Cas steps back and touches the necklace with his parents’ feathers on it, fingers stopping over the empty space between them. “Then we add an alula feather from our mate to here.”

“So, for you guys the new tattoo and a feather is the same as wedding ring?” He holds up his right hand and gestures at the ring on his finger. It used to belong to his mom.

Cas nods and reaches out to touch it gently before he slides his fingers between Dean’s. Heat flares all up Dean’s arm and he smiles, tugging Cas close to kiss him again. “Did you bring all that up so you could ask to put a couple hickeys on me?”

“I would like to, yes.” He brings a hand up to press gentle fingers along his collarbone. “May I?”

“As long as you let me have a go after, be my guest.”

There’s no pussyfooting around after that. Cas homes in on his pulse and Dean loses the ability to think properly when teeth and tongue and _sucking_ and sweet merciful crap he was _not_ prepared for this. The list of things he wasn’t prepared for gets longer when Cas pulls him back up on his feet. One hand spreads wide in the small of Dean’s back to hold him in place. His other hand finds its way into Dean’s hair, tugging his head back while his wings get all puffy again, arching up behind him before they curve in around them.

Dean makes an embarrassing noise that he will deny to his dying day when Cas moves to the hollow of his throat and promptly sucks another mark right there. He’s going for gold on every spot that makes Dean twitch and if Cas doesn’t take it down a notch, he’s going to be twitching in his shorts too – and they haven’t even gotten Cas out of his pants yet.

The sheer level of _smug_ on Cas’s face when he pulls back is almost enough to make Dean laugh – if he wasn’t desperately trying to focus on things like baseball, sad puppies and anything that will keep that heat in his belly from growing. Cas takes a minute to trace every spot he left a mark on. Four, going by the number of times he stops to lightly press his fingers into Dean’s skin. His grin is too tempting for Dean to resist and he pulls him in for another kiss. His obsession with Cas’s mouth and tongue is getting into the dangerous territory of addiction and it hasn’t even been a whole day since they went from best friends to _boyfriends_.

Cas doesn’t object when Dean turns them around and backs him up against the table. The only thing he frowns at is when Dean steps away to get the pot of water. Dean takes his time wiping Cas down from his neck to the waistband of his (almost obscenely tight) pants. Every swipe of the cloth gets Cas that much more relaxed, his wings spreading out before sagging almost limply to the floor. He even tilts his head back on his own, letting out a little sigh when Dean leans in to drag his tongue over the painted line along his throat. The sound cuts right through Dean, burying itself in that heat in his gut.

Something somewhere is setting off flare guns in the back of his mind telling him to stop while he’s ahead, but fuck if Dean’s going to listen to it right now. There are much better things to be doing. Things like finding that spot under Cas’s ear and sucking at it hard enough to bruise, like letting Cas dig his fingers into his shoulders and hiss a surprised gasp in his ear. The list goes on and on and Dean would rather drown in everything that is _Cas_ then stop right now.

It takes more willpower than he thought he had to stop at four, just like Cas did. There’s one under Cas’s right ear, another in the center of the triangle just below the hollow of his throat, and two on his collarbone. Dean spent good chunk of time tracing out the wing-like tattoos that show his status again. Cas worked hard to earn that status and even if Dean’s not all that happy with the circumstances or that it means they can’t see each other a whole lot anymore, he’s glad Cas got it back.

Cas definitely looks more ruffled and less smug by the time Dean steps away and drops his cloth in the pot. He gives Cas a lopsided grin. “Told you I’d show you something nice.”

Unsurprisingly, it takes Cas a few tries to get his mouth working again. He’s leaning back against the table a little more than he was before, his grip on the edge almost white knuckled. If Dean was a betting man – and he is – he’d put good money on Cas fighting against himself in the same way Dean is. “I never doubted that you would.”

They finish cleaning up after that, though Cas seems to be developing this thing where if Dean’s within reach, he’ll stretch out the nearest wing to curve over his back. It’s nice and Dean doesn’t mind it. After Cas is set up and ready to start working on his mats, Dean drags his sleeping bag over behind him and makes a little seat so they can lean back against each other if they want to.

There’s only a week for them to get all their touching needs under wraps before they’re going to be all ‘long distance’ again and Dean’s always been a bit on the touchy feely side – not that most people who know him would think that. It’s only one of those things that people learn if they manage to dig themselves under his skin deep enough. So far, it’s only Cas he’s ever _really_ been like this with. He never had reading time on a couch with Cassie, and he never had the chance to spend a few hours cooking dinner with Lisa. He’s never had the chance for _this_ and he likes it. Dean really fucking likes it.

While Cas works on his mat, humming a little song under his breath, Dean pulls out his laptop and scrolls through all the newspapers he downloaded before he left wifi coverage. They’re newspapers from all over the country and Dean’s got his eyes peeled for anything weird. There’s a notebook balanced on the keyboard and anything that’s remotely weird – unexplained or mysterious deaths and the like – gets written down for him to look up more information on next week.

At the same time, he’s looking for anything that might be related to his dad. He hasn’t called to check in with Bobby in months and Dean’s getting a little worried. There’s a little bit of guilt finding its way into his chest, accusing him of being more focused on Cas than he has with finding his dad. But this is the first time in a long time that Dean’s been doing something for _himself_ and it feels good. As far as he’s concerned, the guilt can just keep piling up. It’s not like John isn’t a pro at stacking that on him most of the time they’re together anyways.

Looking for John _should_ be one of Dean’s priorities right now, but it isn’t. It really, really isn’t. If anything, it’s now moved to the very bottom of his ‘things to do’ list. That may, or may not, have something to do with the fact that Dean doesn’t have a damn clue how to explain to his dad that he not only doesn’t want to hunt Angels anymore, but he’s also _dating_ one. If you could call what he and Cas are going to be doing ‘dating’.

Either way, that conversation is not one that he’s looking forward to. He’ll probably need some kind of backup during it – Bobby, most likely. Sam being there would only piss John off. He’d probably think Sam had ‘corrupted’ Dean in some way and the last thing Dean needs is for those two to strike up a screaming match. With his luck, fists would fly.

A few times, while flipping through the newspapers, Dean stops to ask Cas’s opinion on an article to see if he thinks it’s a hunt or not. More than once he reads out something interesting that has nothing to do with hunting. They’re really too comfortable sitting like they are to _need_ to talk. And it’s nice. Fuck, he’s going to miss this so much when Cas has to go back. At least they’ll still have the phone calls. Dean has to fight the urge to ask Cas what they’re going to do at the end of the week – if he knows how often he’ll be able to come home. Or maybe, now that they’re in a _relationship_ , he’ll be allowed to visit the clan.

That whole thing is a conversation he’d rather put off until later. They’ve got a good thing going right now and Dean doesn’t want to break it with a conversation that might just upset them both. But it still nags at him from the back of his mind, right up to when they stop what they’re doing to make lunch to after while he watches Cas mix the dye to paint over his tattoo.

All thinking basically stops the moment Dean pulls off his shirt and necklace and sits on the couch because Cas – the smartass – drops right into his lap, straddling his thighs like Dean did the last time they had the dye and paintbrush out. Dean rests his hands on Cas’s thighs and grins up at him. If this is his revenge for that time, then Dean welcomes it with open arms.

x

This change to their relationship is both everything that Castiel wanted, and a curse. He has the sneaking suspicion that unless he is careful, he might get completely lost in the feel and taste of Dean's body. It feels like nothing between them has changed, yet at the same time _everything_ is different. How is he supposed to focus on anything when he can easily just turn around and kiss Dean if he so desires it?

After their mockery of a bath earlier, it's become even harder for Castiel to keep his hands to himself. The entire problem is just that Dean has _so much skin_. So many freckles and scars – both big and small, ones he knew of and ones he didn't. Castiel wants to know the story behind each of them. He wants to touch and taste and trace, devote each blemish and imperfection in Dean's skin to memory. It almost feels as if he has more wants than before he was given the permission to touch, to give, to _take_.

Castiel had almost lost control earlier. If he hadn’t made Dean stand up properly so he could wrap him in his wings, Castiel might have pushed him down on the table much like he did once before. It was only his own cowardice that kept him from following that desire. He’s not skilled enough to attempt that yet. Castiel wants to learn Dean’s body first before he tries putting that knowledge to the test. He doesn’t want to do anything like that with Dean without being sure of every movement.

He is, perhaps, a little vindictive when he chooses to sit in Dean’s lap with the jar of dye in his left hand and the paintbrush in the other. Castiel stays close to Dean’s knees, not only to give himself enough space to see by, but to keep himself from leaning in and forgetting everything he plans to do. Dean’s hands come to rest on Castiel’s thighs, thumbs sweeping in gentle arcs. It’s a touch that is very hard to ignore and Castiel wants to spread his wings and cover Dean, hide him from prying eyes.

Dean doesn’t move his hands any further, but he does tilt his head back. The stretch of his neck is a delicious temptation and Castiel lets his gaze linger on the dark bruises he left there before he turns his attention to the sun wrapped around a star tattooed on Dean’s chest. He studies it, trying to think of a design that could incorporate the existing symbol while changing it completely so he can’t see what it once was.

“The star is an Angel.”

Castiel looks up sharply, but Dean is staring at the ceiling. His throat moves while he talks and Castiel has to look away before he leans in to taste it again. “The fire is supposed to represent the hunter and the star an Angel, because the stars are in the heavens and heaven is where Angels were supposed to live or some bullshit like that. There’s some stupid symbolism behind the fire that I didn’t ask about.”

“It’s fire and not a sun?”

“That’s what I was told.”

He frowns at the mark and a new design forms in his mind. Castiel dips the brush into the dye and sets to work. Dean sucks in a sharp breath and he twitches slightly, but he doesn’t move beyond that. While Castiel works, they don’t speak. It would just distract him and he needs to concentrate specifically on what he is doing. Otherwise, he might slip. The more he hears Dean’s voice, the more Castiel wants to feel it whispered across his skin. He wants to feel the rumble of it in Dean’s throat and under his lips. It’s a heady, dizzying _want_ that Castiel tries very hard to ignore.

The first thing he does is fill in the spaces between the star and the ring of fire. He wishes there was something he could do for the lines within the star itself, but Castiel places a dot in each section save the middle instead. With the flames of the fire, Castiel covers them completely, spreading them out further across Dean’s skin in eight sharp points like a compass. In between the points he draws the thick lines of smaller points. It takes a steady hand and the experience of painting his own markings for decades to draw the thin lines that make up rays of light, arcing out from behind this new bigger, brighter star.

When his work is done, Castiel sits back to admire it properly. There is no longer any hint of the sun that it used to be. Now it is a star, shining dark against Dean’s chest, the rays of its light spreading up over his collarbone and touching his shoulder. It will be hours before it will be dry enough to touch and Castiel can hardly wait until he can trace the edges with fingers and tongue. This is his claim on Dean, proof that Castiel has shown him a different path to take in life.

He sets the paintbrush and dye pot aside, keeping one hand firmly on the center of Dean’s chest so he doesn’t move. Regardless, Dean still attempts to look down and see the new design. His eyebrows lift in surprise, a low whistle passing through his lips.

“Damn, Cas. That looks awesome.”

“It’s fitting.” Castiel murmurs, moving his hand to Dean’s chin and tilting his face up. He leans in and kisses Dean softly, just once. “A shining star for my micaloz.”

Dean grins against his lips, a teasing smile. “Mee-kah-what?”

“Mee-kah-loh-zod.” He repeats, pressing gentle kisses to Dean’s mouth between every syllable. “It means ‘mighty light’. You have given me far more than you know, Dean.”

Castiel doesn’t tell him that Hamiaah don’t usually give Enochian names to Humans unless it’s during a commah ceremony. It’s not completely unheard of to have one before then, but it’s certainly rare. As rare as his melanistic wings. He supposes that makes it oddly appropriate.

“Jesus, Cas –” Dean hisses softly and his hands tighten over Castiel’s thighs.

Before Dean can move his hands, Castiel covers them with his own. “Don’t move your left arm or you might mess up the dye.”

He gets no objection and Dean sinks the fingers of his other hand into Castiel’s hair, pulling him close to kiss him hard. Castiel opens to the press of his tongue and loses himself to the taste and feel of Dean. His wings twitch forward, arching over his shoulders and giving in to the urge to shield Dean with them despite there being no one else here to see him. He covers Dean with his wings even though no one is here to see how Dean arches against the back of the othil and bares his neck for the slide of Castiel’s teeth and tongue.

There’s no one here to hear the soft sounds of surprise Dean makes whenever Castiel finds his sensitive places and drags his teeth over them. Dean said he doesn’t like biting, but he takes no issue with gentle nips or a soft scrape over his collarbone. He squirms when Castiel’s nails slide along his sides and gasps when his thumbs brush his nipples. The sound is like lightning through him and Castiel’s wings shiver as he repeats the motion, searching to get Dean to make the same noises again.

Without thinking, Castiel dips his head to flatten his tongue over one of Dean’s nipples. It earns him a strangled little noise that puts fire to his veins, burning like the heat from the mating season. Maybe he hasn’t fully recovered from that just yet, but it is the first that he’s welcomed it. He doesn’t fight against it or loathe it as it sears a path to his belly.

The only hand that Dean is allowed to move finds its way over his side and into the downy feathers at the base of Castiel’s wing. He muffles a groan of his own into Dean’s skin, curving his back and pressing into Dean’s fingers. It feels good when Dean grooms his wings, but this – this is like a storm building under flesh and bone. This is everything he expected Dean’s touch to do to him and more. The grip on his thigh is bruising and his other hand won’t hold still, moving from his wings and neck to cupping the back of his head to hold him in place whenever he finds a spot on Dean’s chest that he enjoys.

Castiel stays away from the drying dye but he maps the rest of Dean’s chest as far down as he can reach without moving from his position in Dean’s lap. There’s a marked increase in Dean’s pulse and he’s far more liberal with the little sounds his makes. Castiel is certain there will never be a time that he won’t be completely enthralled with Dean’s body and the novelty that it is _his_ mouth, _his_ hands – _him_ – that makes Dean feel this way. It’s Castiel’s doing that has Dean looking at him with hooded eyes and kiss swollen lips, pink tongue darting out to wet them and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from chasing it with his own even if he wanted to.

They kiss and touch gently, exploring for what feels like hours. It’s long enough for the dye to dry to a point where Castiel is willing to let Dean sit up and have his turn. When it’s Dean’s mouth on his throat and his hands on his hips, Castiel lets his wings fold in again. If Dean had wings of his own, now would be when he would welcome Dean wrapping his wings over his. It would be a submissive gesture, much like baring his throat is – even if Dean doesn’t fully understand and Castiel’s not sure if he should take the time to explain.

Dean mouths wetly along his chest, tongue swiping and teeth scraping over his ribs and nipples to find all the places Castiel never knew would feel so good. This is another novelty that he doesn’t think will ever wear out. Dean wanting to touch and taste him, wanting to give him pleasure and finding his joy in it. It’s something new, something exciting, something he’s been craving for months and he knows he’ll never have his fill.

There’s a tingle in his wings, a leak of power running wild and he doesn’t doubt that red poppies and orange lilies are growing around them.

“Enjoying yourself, Cas?”

The words vibrate against his sternum and Castiel drags his hands through Dean’s hair before he pulls him up into his answering kiss. Dean huffs a quiet laugh against his mouth and the course his hands take along Castiel’s sides is more soothing compared to the touches from before.

He pulls away with a grin, eyes dark and breath short. It’s when Dean looks down, his gaze slowly sliding over Castiel’s chest and the numerous little red marks that will fade in an hour, that he realizes what Dean’s question was truly about. Castiel’s erection is straining against his qaa and the pants he never bothered to remove before. It hadn’t occurred to him that giving in to the heat in his body would show naturally like this. He’d been too preoccupied with focusing on every little sensation that Dean had been giving him. And he can see that Dean has one of his own too.

At this point, Castiel is too far gone to care about little else. He spent ten days dreaming about having Dean like this. Now that he’s here, ready and willing to give Castiel everything he’s wanted, why should he deny them both? They’ve had a connection since before Dean first left and it only got stronger with every phone call, with every visit, with every hesitating touch. Whether they acknowledged it or not, they _did_ have it and now there’s nothing left for them to do but build on it in what little time is allowed to them right now.

Dean muffles a sound of surprise when Castiel kisses him hard, carefully maneuvering him to turn and stretch out on the othil without messing up the dye of the design. It maybe be dried now, but the longer they leave it untouched, the darker the marking will be. And he wants it to be dark enough that they won’t be able to see the real tattoo underneath.

In moving, Castiel ends up between Dean’s legs with his knees framing his hips. He lowers himself carefully against Dean in small increments until he can feel Dean’s erection against his own. This is entirely new territory for him. Achieving an orgasm alone by rubbing against Dean’s blanket (something he still hasn’t told Dean about) is similar, but intrinsically different. The blanket didn’t respond. It didn’t gasp into his mouth and slide greedy fingers up his back to press in between his shoulder blades. It didn’t have hips to thrust up against his, rolling in an experienced, delicious wave of muscle, skin, and blue fabric.

The friction is maddening. Castiel moves on instinct and his wings curve over their heads. Everything is shadows and gasped, desperate breaths. One hand finds its way under Dean’s thigh, lifting his leg to hitch around his hip. It changes something and Dean groans deep in his throat, head tilting back until it’s his chin Castiel presses kisses to. His hands drag down Castiel’s back, fingertips pressing hard into his skin and catching on the hem of his pants before they’re back and in the downy feathers of his wings.

“Cas –”

His name is a moan on Dean’s lips, drawn out into a hiss. It echoes with every roll, every push together. Dean can't seem to stop. Every other breath spills another half sentence ending or beginning with Castiel's name. They're gentle spoken directions, urging him faster or slower, or shifting more to one side. Sometimes they're questions, “Please let me –” that he never finishes. Castiel listens to it all, enthralled by everything.

It’s a surprise to them both when Dean locks up under him. Castiel pulls his wings tight to his back again, releasing a burst of his powers to grow the glowing mushrooms as quickly as possible to give him more light to see with. He wants to know what Dean looks like during this – he wants to memorize it and compare it to the fantasies he’s had.

Dean’s mouth is open slightly, eyes wide and glassy. His throat works over a soundless noise before he lets out a slow, steady sigh and his eyes slide shut. Castiel stops moving, waiting and unsure what to expect next now that Dean's orgasmed and he hasn't. Is he allowed to keep moving? Or will Dean want him to stop and finish on his own? He doesn't know and he doesn't have long to wait for an answer.

“Can I touch you?” Dean asks softly, not opening his eyes as his hands slide down to Castiel’s hips. “Please, Cas, I wanna touch you.”

As vague as the request is, Castiel knows what he means and it sends his heart and breath tripping together through his chest. He scrambles to his knees and carefully crawls up Dean’s body until he can straddle his hips instead of sitting between his thighs. Dean takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again. There’s a smile lifting his lips and Castiel sags forward, dropping to his elbows above Dean’s shoulders to kiss that smile and memorize every taste and texture.

He’s unashamed of the groan that tears from his throat when Dean’s palm cups him through the front of his pants. It’s nothing like when he’s done the same himself. Dean squeezes and rubs and Castiel is quickly shaking apart above him, his wings twitching and spreading again – one wing bumps the wall and can go no further, but the other brushes the edge of the table.

“Sit up.” The command is whispered against his mouth. “I wanna see you.”

Castiel understands that need all too well and he pushes himself up. Dean  bends his legs until his knees bump Castiel’s back, giving him something to lean back against. He rocks his hips forward into Dean’s hand, searching for more friction, searching for an edge that has never felt so good. His chin touches his chest as he looks down, watching Dean’s fingers as they work over him through his pants.

His orgasm is much less of a surprise than Dean’s. Castiel can feel it start as sparks in the tips of his wings, his fingers, and his toes. They race along his bones to gather in his gut, pulsing sharply in time with his heart. It beats at an almost frantic pace and Castiel’s movements become less even, more desperate and he lifts his eyes to Dean’s. He’s watching so closely, fixed on Castiel’s face.

“Dean –” There were supposed to be words following his name, but Castiel doesn’t remember what they were going to be. They get lost in a moan that rattles out of him from some place deep inside.

With his eyes squeezed shut, Castiel hands find Dean’s wrists and he holds on tightly, riding the waves of his own orgasm. Dean is sitting up and kissing him before Castiel has even folded his wings against his back again. They’re gentle kisses, soft and – if he didn’t know Dean better, he would say they were verging on worship. Each press is full of the words neither of them has said yet and Castiel gives into it. His hands tremble slightly as he lifts them to cradle Dean’s jaw between them – a homage to the first kisses they shared the day before.

“I think –” Dean starts, pausing to move in for another few kisses. “– I think we need to do that a _lot_ more often.”

Castiel almost laughs, smiling against his lips and humming. He couldn’t agree more.

“But next time –” Another pause, another kiss. “Next time we get us out of our pants. I only bring so many boxers with me, y’know?”

This time there is no stopping the laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Peony: bashfulness  
> \- Coriander: lust  
> \- Red Poppy: pleasure  
> \- Orange Lily: desire, passion


	32. A New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **You are happy, Qaal.** Silvanus nudges him with his snout, nearly knocking Castiel over. **Happier than I have ever seen you.**
> 
> “I am.” He smiles and leans against him. “I am very happy with Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Everything is sunshine, kittens, puppies and rainbows and Dean doesn't give a damn about how girly that sounds. He's still riding the euphoric high of sex – even if they basically just dry humped on the couch like a couple of horny teens. To be fair, Cas is probably still coming down off his mating season and Dean hasn't seen any action beyond his right hand in more months than he cares to count. Not to mention that he's been dying to touch Cas and be touched by Cas and dear sweet pie on high, they did it. They finally fucking did it and it was _awesome._

And the best thing about it? Cas. Hands down, it was Cas. Every little sound, every movement – Christ, it was completely and utterly unashamed. Most people are at least a little self conscious about what they're doing, or how they might look to the other person. They try to keep enough control to school their face so they don't make any weird expression, so they can keep looking sexy, or they pull out the porn star noises when they're not really feeling it. Cas didn't do any of that. He was so – so fucking _open_ and natural and just really damn amazing.

He'd been all wide eyes, open mouth, clumsy hands and just fucking _perfect_. It had been completely Cas-like to dive right into it without thinking, watching and touching and tasting and – fuck, Dean gets chills just remembering it. And that's not even thinking on what it was like to be the one who made Cas like that. If Cas was telling the truth, and Dean wholly believes he was, then he's never been touched like that before and Dean was the first. He was the first to make Cas lose himself in what little bit they did. There's a whole world of other stuff to do and Dean's wants to be the one to show him it.

Being with Cas makes Dean happy. He's known that much for _months_ and not getting to see him for the last three was painful bordering on torture. Getting to talk to him once a week got Dean through most of it, but he it wasn't enough. But being here right now? Dean doesn't need TV, or the internet, or fried foods. Reading, doing things with his hands, talking with Cas, they fill his day and he's happy with it.

Heck, he's even thinking of asking Cas to show him how to make a mat so they could do that together. And if he's going to be out here more often, maybe he'll take up another hobby. Whittling, carpentry, _knitting –_ okay, maybe not knitting. But he should take up some kind of new hobbies. He could start make models and shit, take up painting, or drawing, or anything will do because he'll be happy with anything as long as he's with Cas.

Finally knowing that he's got _all_ of Cas, Dean's happy as hell. It's the first time he's felt properly complete in a really long time. Heck, he can't even remember the last time he was this happy. He doesn't even know if he's _ever_ been this happy before and it feels fucking fantastic.

“You didn't change.”

Dean looks up from his bag. Cas is standing in the entrance of the cave and he's just wearing a loincloth – which really isn't fair. How's Dean supposed to focus on anything else when Cas is walking around like that and especially when Dean's allowed to _touch_ now? Willpower. He's going to need a hell of a lot of that if he's going to be a good little boy.

Cas has a couple shirts, pants, and even more underpants in his arms. After what happened on the couch, they agreed to change their underclothes and Cas was going to show him how he washes his clothes. Apparently he's been putting it off and this is just the kick in the pants that he needed to get on it. It's kinda cool to learn that even Cas doesn't always do all his chores.

Far as Dean can tell, they're doing it old school. Which means in a pot with soap root and if Cas pulls out one of those cheese-grater washboard things, Dean might actually laugh himself to tears. He thinks maybe he saw something on the discovery channel about clothes being beaten on rocks at riversides. But they probably won't be doing that here.

Before he got changed, Cas had uncovered the secondary fire pit and got a fire going there. He put the grate over it, propped up higher than normal on some rocks, and their bath water was topped up and moved there. The waters been at a steady simmer for a while now and Cas goes over, dumping in a few of the clothes. He gets the fire power and starts using that to stir the clothes around.

“I'm already done, actually.” Dean grins, standing. He tosses the shirt he'll wear later over the back of the chair and holds up his balled up boxers. “Got a new set already on.”

“Good. Just throw them in here.” Cas gestures at the pot and Dean crosses over to him, dropping them in and watching Cas push them to down with the stick. “We’ll let them soak for a little bit before we’ll rub soap into them, soak some more, and beat them clean on the table. By then it should be okay for you to wash the dye off and put a shirt on again.”

Dean shrugs and drops back onto the couch, stretching his legs out and reaching for a book. “Maybe I'll just keep it off for the rest of the day. You keep it nice and toasty in here, so it's not like it's a problem.”

Cas looks at him from across the room and Dean knows that look. He's still getting used to seeing it on Cas's face, but he knows _want_ when he sees it. Maybe him going around shirtless has the same effect on Cas that Cas going around practically naked has on him. Judging by how twitchy his wings are getting again, Dean's leaning heavily toward that being a 'yes'.

“Like what you see, Cas?”

“You know I do.”

He's so stupidly blatant about everything now and Dean grins. “How much attention d'you have to pay to the clothes? Could you afford a kiss break?”

“We did plenty of kissing ten minutes ago.”

“I know. I was there.” They're some damn good memories. “And I'm pretty sure we did a heck of a lot more than just kissing. Doesn't mean that I don't want to do it some more. I'm all nice and shirtless over here, and you're all nice and nearly naked over there. I say we should make the most of it.”

Cas rolls his eyes and stirs the pot again. “I need to mind the clothes and get back to the mat. I have orders to fill for the gathering next summer. Besides, I don't recover _that_ quick and I know for a fact that your refractory period isn't that short either.”

“And how do you know that?” He grins and raises his eyebrows suggestively. Of course he's not ready to go yet, but teasing Cas is pretty damn fun. “You been timing me or something?”

His feathers puff up again, and he shoots Dean a dirty look. “I've been around Hamiaah with Human mates during the mating season. I've heard the whining.” Cas puts the stick aside and walks toward him with a small smirk that might be driving Dean a little crazy. “They can't keep going and get tired too quickly. You're lucky you missed it.”

“Hm, we'll see about that next year.” He laughs, reaching out to catch Cas's hand to pull him down next to him on the couch. “Or actually, I should say _this_ year. Yesterday was New Year's Eve and that makes today the first day of the year.” Dean leans over and kisses him, loving that feeling of _right_ when he does it. “Happy New Year, Cas.”

“Happy New Year, Dean.” Cas murmurs against his mouth, bringing up a hand to cup his jaw. He's got a thing about touching and it's a thing that Dean really, _really_ likes.

It sucks that Cas wasn't kidding about needing to do stuff. Dean barely gets his hand on Cas’s knee before he’s getting up and going back to the pot to keep stirring their clothes. And Dean just watches him. Watches the flex of muscles under his back and in his arms while he stirs; the way his wings shift when he moves – and he thinks about the power in them. Angels are stronger than they look and Dean’s pretty sure Cas would have no problem picking him up if he wanted to, and he’s going to save those kind of thoughts for later.

Right now he’s more interested in thinking about all the little things that he doesn’t know about Cas. There’s a whole other side to people when they’re in a relationship and Dean feels greedy. He wants to know what Cas is like in bed, sure, that’s a given. Dean’s a creature of physical pleasures after all. But that’s not the only thing he’s after. He wants to know what Cas is like without any of his little guards up. They’ve gotten pretty fucking close in the last several months, but Cas still had walls up between them – not that Dean didn’t have those too. But now they can drop them and just be them and he wants that. Jesus _Christ_ , he wants that bad enough it kind of scares him.

“Dean?” Cas looks over his shoulder. “May I ask you something?”

He looks away from his wings to slant a smile at him. “Go ahead. I’m an open book.”

“Why do you put significance on the beginning of the year?”

“You’ve never made a new year resolution before?” Dean puts the book he never even opened back on the pile on the stump and crosses his legs, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Cas just shrugs and shakes his head, so Dean continues. “It’s about new beginnings, a chance to be a new you and improve on what you didn’t like about yourself in the last year, or make plans to do something that you’ve been putting off. Planning for the future and all that.”

Cas hums, a little noise in the back of his throat that he makes when he understands and he’s just thinking it over. “Do you have any resolutions for this year?”

He always hates getting asked that question. Dean slumps back against the couch and looks up at the nest. There’s always the usual – the lose weight, tone up, eat healthier bullshit. Since there’s nothing wrong with the shape he’s in, Dean’s not going to bother thinking about that. And since he met Cas, he’s already improved on his eating habits because he’s picked up the cooking bug and hasn’t lost it since.

“I dunno, Cas.” Dean sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. “I want to help people, so I guess I’d like to try hunting more. And I want to spend more time with Sammy, and I definitely want to spend more time with you, but that’s kinda in the air because of the shit about the war. I have to find dad and make sure he’s okay – and I want to figure out a way to get him to stop killing Angels. Oh God, I’m going to have to figure out how to tell him that I’m not going to be an Angel hunter anymore either.” He shrugs and looks back down at Cas. “It’d be nice to try and get other hunters to stop killing you guys too when you don’t deserve it at all.”

“Not many _deserve_ death, Dean. But don’t forget that there are still quite a few Human haters among us.” Cas glances back at him. “And there are some who do act on that aggression. To my understanding, it’s very rare and the vast majority of what we’re blamed for is caused by the Hamiamma.”

He sighs again, crossing his arms and frowning down at the floor. “I know. And trying to convince anyone to stop hunting you guys will need a reason. Which means telling people about the Hamiamma and I promised that I wouldn’t. It’s your guys’ ‘big shame’ and all, right?”

Cas nods and looks away. “If anything good comes of this war, I hope it will be getting the Hamiamma under control. The monsters their children become are too numerous for us to handle, but hunters like you help a great deal.”

Dean gets up and crosses the room to sit next to Cas and sling an arm around his waist, leaning into his side while he stirs. “I just don’t want anyone hunting you. Not all hunters are as awesome as me.”

A wing drops across Dean’s shoulders, curving around his side. “The world would be a better place if they were.”

“You don’t need to butter me up for kisses, Cas. I’ll give ‘em freely.” He grins and presses one to Cas’s shoulder before stretching up to plant one under his ear. “Y’don’t even need to ask.” He murmurs against his jaw before Cas turns his head so he can kiss him nice and proper.

It’s short and sweet before Cas shoos him back to the couch so he can focus on the laundry. Dean entertains himself with a book until Cas gets him to come help with soaping up the clothes. All that involves is taking the pot off the grill and rubbing soap root into the fabric. While Dean does that, Cas takes the water outside to find a place to dump it and comes back with the pot full of snow. It melts quickly over the fire and they wash the soap out in that.

The fun part is spreading everything out on the table and beating the shit out of them with an honest to God _paddle_. Cas only has one and he puts himself in charge of smacking  the dirt out, though he does let Dean take a few swings. Dean gets the job of hanging whatever Cas is done with from the nest so it can drip dry in the heat from the fire.

“They should be dry by suppertime.” Cas points out while using a cloth to dry the table a little. “We’ll clean the table properly before we eat.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Dean drops back onto the couch and picks up the book he abandoned. It’s not cold enough inside for him to want to put on a shirt and he figures he’ll leave the dye on until he absolutely _needs_ to get dressed. Like if he’s got to go outside to take a piss or something. That kind of need.

It takes nearly two hours for that need to come up and Cas helps him was off the crusted dye. He’s very careful and very attentive with the damp cloth, cleaning the new tattoo in small increments and smiling softly the whole time. Dean gets out his cell phone and takes a picture of it, and then for the hell of it, he takes a picture of him kissing Cas. Whether it’s proof for Sam and Jess, or it’s just for his own personal library, he doesn’t really know. But it was a spur of the moment decision and Cas doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve made a new resolution.” He announces when he comes back inside and kicks off his boots. “The new resolution is to build a bathroom in this place or something. How the hell can you stand going outside like that? What if it was a blizzard outside? Would you still try to take a piss in that?”

“I have covered jars that I –”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Dean covers his ears and makes a face at the confused look Cas gives him. “It’s gross, Cas. If you had, like, a port-a-potty attached to the side of the house that we could get too without going outside, think about how nice that would be?”

Cas just rolls his eyes at him and goes back to making his mat. Dean still counts it as a victory. He’s planted the seeds of now and all he has to do is get some wifi for some research on ancient septic systems or something. The more info he can get for Cas about it, the better. Not that he’ll really need it a lot right now, since five days from now he’ll be heading back to the clan. It shouldn’t be right, or healthy, for Dean to hate people he’s never met for making Cas do stuff he doesn’t want to do (and for taking him away from him). But Dean’s more than a little miffed at it and tries not to let it bother him. Or at least, he tries not to let Cas know that it bothers him.

When they’re sitting down for supper, Cas finally has pants on again and he’s wearing the poncho Dean gave him. Everything is folded and put away nicely and the table got scrubbed down while the pizza they made tonight baked in the domed oven.

“D’you have any resolutions?” Dean asks, nudging Cas’s knee with his foot. “You’ve had a few hours to think about it. Got any plans?”

Cas puts his slice of pizza down, staring at it for a minute before he starts slowly. “My future is not as steady as yours. If don’t know where I will be a few weeks, or even a few months from now. I don’t even know if I’ll be allowed to leave the clan again before the next mating season.”

That makes his stomach twist and Dean puts his slice down too. Not getting to see Cas for a year is probably the best appetite suppressant he’s ever come across. “Oh.”

“I don’t think I can make resolutions, but I can make wishes of the hopes I have for the coming year.” Cas says softly, rubbing his ankle up Dean’s calf. “Such as how I wish the war would end. I want Lucifer to be stopped and for everyone – Human and Hamiaah – to be safe. And, of course, I hope that we will be able to see each other more, which plays into my hope that Raphael doesn’t decide to move our clan south to join with Michael’s in the rainforests.”

Dean stops trying to hook his foot around Cas’s leg to pin it in place. “Wait, _what_?” Apparently that’s something he forgot to mention before and Dean does _not_ like the sound of it.

Cas flinches, hunching his shoulders and curling his wings in tight against his back. “I didn’t think it necessary to tell you when I first heard about it a little over a month ago. And since our relationship evolved, I hadn’t thought about it until now.”

“No, that’s fine. I figured that much out.” He waves his hand like that’ll clear the air or something. “No, I’m more concerned about the whole _moving away_ thing. What’s the deal with that?”

“Lucifer is taking down the clans across the sea. There are only two clans left in the western hemisphere since his was destroyed – my own in the northern mountains and Michael’s in the southern rainforests.” Cas explains, staring down at his pizza like he’s getting all his answers from it. “Gabriel’s clan fell to Lucifer’s armies just before my training started. Raphael has decided that if any of the others fall, he’ll move our clan to join with Michael’s. Together we’ll be stronger and safer than if we were apart.” He shifts in his seat and looks up at Dean. “And there’s the very real possibility that they might decide to send us overseas to meet Lucifer head on before he can make it here.”

Dean shoves his plate away and slumps back in his chair. Any thought of finishing supper is long gone and he’s not sure if he’s going to want to eat breakfast either. How the hell is he supposed to take the news that it’s entirely possible he won’t get to see Cas again after this for a year or longer? That’s not _fair_. They just got together and now they might get pulled apart even _more_? God fucking _dammit_.

Cas hesitates for a second before he gets up and comes around the table. Dean turns into him without thinking about it, leaning his cheek on his belly and wrapping his arms around his hips. It gets really dark when Cas folds his wings around him, but Dean doesn’t mind. When he does that, it’s like Cas is cutting off the rest of the world and it’s just them for a little while. He did that early on the couch and Dean decided then that he likes it.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Cas says it as softly as he runs a hand through Dean’s hair. “As soon as I return to the clan, I’ll see if I can negotiate time to see you more when I notify them of the change in our relationship – though the majority of my clan already believes that you and I were more than friends.”

He snorts and muffles a laugh against Cas’s hip. “We weren’t that obvious, were we?”

“Apparently we were. The rumours started almost immediately after Hester reported to the clan that I had a Human guest while they were here. I don’t think sharing my nest with you helped in that regard.” Cas keeps talking all soft and whatever he’s doing to Dean’s scalp with his fingers is all sorts of magical. “Balthazar believed me when I said that you and I were just friends, but I think it was fairly obvious to him that I wanted to be more. He said I sounded ‘bitter’.”

Dean hums, tilting his head into Cas’s hand so he doesn’t stop with the magic fingers. “If they know we’re more than friends now, does that mean they’ll let me visit you at the clan? Even if it’s in Canada, I’ve got a passport and everything. I could drive up there and visit you easier than it would be for you to keep on having to come back down here – if that’s gonna be the biggest problem for them.”

“I don’t know if they’ll let you come to the clan itself without them meeting you first to make sure that you’re trustworthy.” Cas’s voice rumbles down through his belly and under Dean’s cheek. It’s pretty damn soothing too and Dean moves one hand to start petting one of Cas’s wings, trying to return at least a little bit of the head massage goodness. “But it might be possible to meet at a location closer to the clan. There’s a human town full of our allies that isn’t far, and they have several log houses that we use to meet with them in should we need to discuss things.”

“It almost sounds like you’re talking about conjugal visits.” He tilts his head to rest his chin on Cas’s stomach so he can look straight up at him. Cas looks down and Dean grins, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “I’m game for that.”

At least he gets a smirk out of Cas for that, but it also gets him a twist of fingers in his hair. Cas probably would’ve flicked him on the nose too if Dean hadn’t turned his face back down and squished his nose against his belly. He presses a kiss just below Cas’s belly button and contemplates the pros and cons of trying to blow a raspberry. Maybe later. Right now, he’s kind of rocking the whole hug thing.

“Do you think you’ll be able to finish eating now?” Cas asks after a few minutes. “Or would you rather we retire to the othil to read?”

Nothing ever really squashes Dean’s appetite for long, and hearing that Cas is going to try and work it out with his clan to get to see him more often really helped. He hums against Cas’s skin and resists the urge to rub his cheek against it. Dean is _not_ a damn cat.

“Pizza. Reading. Kisses. Sleep.” He presses another kiss to Cas’s belly before he lets him step away. “That sound good to you?”

“Of course.” Cas cups his cheek and tilts his face up as he dips down to give him a lingering kiss.

One pizza, a decent chunk of their books, and a couple separate make out sessions later, Dean’s tucking up under the blankets with Cas’s wing folded over them. Cas is up against his side and worming an arm and leg over him before Dean’s even completely settled. He keeps pressing kisses to Dean’s shoulder, or his collarbone, or even his neck if it’s within reach and every touch makes Dean feel warm inside in a completely different way than he’s used to. These aren’t kisses to turn him on. They’re soft, gentle, a little bit sleepy, and they make Dean feel important, special, _loved_.

He draws Cas up close and they don’t say anything – no goodnight, or the other words that keep getting stuck somewhere down in between Dean’s lungs. They don’t need to say it. All the words are in the little tender kisses that go everywhere first before they manage to find their way to each other’s lips. Dean smiles into it and runs his free hand down Cas’s arm until he can find his hand on his chest and link their fingers together.

Yeah. Being here with Cas is definitely the happiest he’s been in a _very_ long time.

x

There are many reasons that Castiel likes waking up early in the morning. Most of them revolve around being able to get more done during the day if he wakes up early and well rested. Some of them involve how he likes the morning songs of the birds and the smell of the forest during a new dawn. And he always enjoys the feel of the day’s first sunlight on his wings when he’s flying.

Now Dean has given him another reason to enjoy waking up early. Or more accurately, waking up _first_. If Castiel thought waking up next to Dean during the week they shared his nest before was as good as it was going to get. But now, waking up next to him and knowing that Dean is _his_ – it’s the best thing to wake up to Castiel has had in a very long time. Even just watching Dean sleep makes him happy. The deep rhythmic sound of his breathing, and how perfectly relaxed Dean is, it borders on amazing. And perhaps the knowledge that he could kiss or touch Dean until he’s awake is rather heady in itself.

Castiel listens to the beat of Dean’s heart until Dean wakes up. He’s barely finished stretching and yawning before Castiel kisses him. With all the different kinds of kisses they’ve had, Castiel isn’t sure which he likes best – although he is leaning heavily in favour of the slow ones. They’re the ones that are more than just a physical connection between them. There’s no passion or lust fueling them, it’s simply about feeling each other out slowly. It’s in those kisses that Castiel almost thinks that he can taste Dean’s emotions.

They discover, shortly after getting out of the nest, that it is snowing heavily outside. Today will be another day they spend in doors and Castiel doesn’t mind that. Dean seems content with reading or playing on the machine he brought while Castiel works on his mat. There are points during the day where they don’t talk for a few hours, and there are times between and during meals that they barely stop to breathe. And there are many, many times where the silence is filled with the sweep of hands, the press of lips, the slide of tongues and, on the odd occasion, the drag of teeth. It makes time that should feel like it is moving slowly pass much faster than expected.

By the time they’re returning to the nest, Castiel feels tired but he also feels like he’s only just woken up. Tonight, after their kissing is broken by a mutual yawn, Castiel curls against Dean’s back. He slots his knees behind Dean’s and wraps his arm around his waist. Without a blanket between them, the heat radiating from Dean through his clothing almost negates the need for as many blankets as they have. Dean even laughs when Castiel rubs his nose against the back of his neck, warming it against his skin.

He doesn’t have words to describe how it feels to have the person he cares for fall asleep in his arms and under his wing. There’s an overpowering sense if _complete_ to it. Like this was what he needed to stop feeling so empty and alone. Castiel can’t stop thinking about how the change to their relationship has affected their lives now. In some places, there are many differences, but in others there is none.

The only difference that he can find in most of the things they do is that they’re both much more free with touches. Dean will often, almost absently, reach out to stroke Castiel’s wings. Or he’ll lean over to press a kiss against his back, his shoulder, his cheek, or even just fully kiss him. This happens when they’re reading, talking, or cooking. They had smaller touches before, but those felt stolen and left Castiel craving for more than what he was allowed to have.

But now he _can_ have it and it’s a concept he is still having trouble grasping. Each time Dean lets Castiel kiss him, he always steps away feeling strangely full. He feels _satisfied_ and everything has an odd sense of perfection to it. Castiel is well aware that things are far from perfect, but this is the closest he thinks they can come to it now. _Perfect_ can’t be achieved when in four days time he’s going to have to return to the clan.

Morning comes with a loud scuffling sound outside the salman. It’s enough to wake Dean and they get dressed quietly, investigating together to find Silvanus digging out the paths again from the snow that fell yesterday. Castiel has barely thanked him for helping without being asked when a loosely formed ball of snow breaks apart against his one of his wings.

He turns to find Dean grinning at him and already scooping up more snow. “You ever had a snowball fight, Cas?”

“No.” Castiel frowns, shaking his wing out and watching as Dean packs the snow together into another ball. “Why did you throw that?”

“For fun. It’s like a game. The person who gives up first loses.” He tosses the ball from one hand to the other after it’s formed. “What d’you say, Cas? Wanna play?”

This is something new. He never played games in the snow with his parents when he was a child, and after their death he was too focused on training and earning the respect of the clan to pay attention to the children when they were playing. Granted, by then he wasn’t entirely a child himself anymore.

Castiel ducks under the next snowball Dean throws and he crouches to form his own. Silvanus huffs at them both as he clears the path through the field, dividing the sides that he and Dean take up. Dean’s laughter echoes in the forest, but his aim is almost as deadly as Castiel’s. Once or twice, when his snowballs catch Dean by surprise and nearly knock him off his feet, Castiel can’t help a laugh of his own. He never thought playing in the snow could be so much fun.

The snowball fight ends on a mutual agreement when they’re both too hungry to continue. Their clothing dries by the fire while they make breakfast and eat it, stopping often for breathless kisses as Dean whispers praise about Castiel’s snow-battle skills into the crook of his neck.

Dean is giddy, grinning and laughing and full of energy. As soon as they’re finished cleaning up from breakfast, he’s dragging Castiel back outside. They walk with Castiel’s hand in Dean’s pocket again, taking the cleared path to the clearing with Dean’s car. Silvanus is carefully digging around it and Dean helps, getting a shovel from the space in the back of the car to dig closer to her body. He gives Castiel a brush to dust the snow from her windows and roof. Dean lets her run for a few minutes, explaining that he needs to do it so she doesn’t freeze.

When they’re done, they return to the clearing around the salman and Dean shows him how to build a snowman. They build two, one in the conventional way, and one in their own way. Any attempt to give it wings doesn’t work out well, but it was fun trying. They also build a short wall – one on each side of the clearing – that Dean claims are ‘forts’. The walls don’t provide much coverage for the second half of their snowball fight, but Castiel still enjoys himself.

Silvanus’s return from finishing the roads is the deciding factor for when they retire inside. Castiel hangs back to spend a few moments with him while Dean goes inside with the instructions to fill the large pot with water and set it over the fire. Despite the cold, they’ve both worked up quite the sweat in their outdoor clothing and it’s about time that they bathe anyway.

 **You are happy, Qaal.** Silvanus nudges him with his snout, nearly knocking Castiel over. **Happier than I have ever seen you.**

“I am.” He smiles and leans against him. “I am very happy with Dean.”

**Good. Tell me if he hurts you. I will eat him.**

Castiel muffles a laugh under his hand and shoves at him, stepping away in the same motion. “You will do no such thing. You should give Dean the same amount of trust that I do.”

Silvanus huffs and whips his tail through the snow, narrowly missing their snowmen. **Maybe. Go inside now, Qaal. He is waiting.** He twists to press his nose under one of Castiel’s wings. **I will be back to take you to the clan, or sooner if it snows again.**

“Thank you. We appreciate your effort.” He rubs gently between his eyes. “Stay safe.”

He waits until Silvanus has lumbered out of sight before going inside. Dean is kneeling by the fire, already stripped down to his undershorts while he feeds kindling into the flames. The water is warming over the grill and his clothing is already hanging from the nest to dry. Castiel leaves his boots next to Dean’s at the entrance and undresses slowly on his way to join Dean by the fire.

“Do you want them on or off this time?” Dean asks without looking up, using a cloth to check the temperature of the water.

The question is one he was expecting. Castiel knows he told Dean that the next time they bathe together they would remove their underclothing and, truthfully, he’s been thinking about since they decided earlier that they would bathe after the finished playing outside. He still hasn’t come to a decision. A part of him wants to see all of Dean, but another part of him is worried that if he does, they won’t be able to keep from touching and what would touching lead to?

It’s not that Castiel is afraid of sex, or even particularly naïve about it. And he’s certainly not uncomfortable with the idea of being naked around Dean. The thought of Dean being completely bare to him sends a shiver through his wings. The only hesitation he has with his answer is that they haven’t _talked_ about anything yet. Castiel doesn’t know how to broach the subject and he’s not even certain if there’s been a moment between them where that discussion would have been an appropriate segue.

Dean left it up to him to decide their pace and so far Castiel hasn’t been able to get them much further than touching one another through their clothes. Yesterday they were both aroused and Castiel had enjoyed the gentle caresses, but neither of them had continued touching the other enough to actually achieve orgasm. They had gotten too lost in simple kissing and the moment for that had burned itself out. Even though Dean didn’t seem to mind, Castiel was slightly frustrated with it all. He wants _more_. Now that he has Dean’s heart, he’s more than ready to have his body. He just not sure how to get it.

“Off.” His answer surprises him, but Castiel doesn’t let it show as he unties the strings of his qaa.

“Am I allowed to touch you?”

Castiel looks up to find Dean standing, his thumbs hooked in the waistband of his undershorts and his eyes locked on him. His wings fan out at the thought of Dean’s fingers on him without that final barrier of clothing and the first pulse of heat starts to curl in his veins. If Dean touches him, even if it’s not meant to be sexual, he’s not sure what he might do.

There’s an all too knowing look in Dean’s eyes and he takes the few steps between them to cover Castiel’s hands with his own. He leans in and kisses him lightly. “Hey, I’m not going to do anything you’re not ready for. You know that.”

“I know.” Castiel tilts his head to rest his forehead against Dean’s. “I’m more worried about what _I_ might do when you touch me.”

“Do what you want, Cas.” Dean pulls Castiel’s hands from his qaa to rest on his hips. “If you want to touch, you touch. If you don’t, you don’t. It’s simple. I just want to know if you’re okay with me touching you too.”

The understanding and acceptance reflected back at him in Dean’s eyes seals the decision for him. Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s lips, murmuring against them. “I am.”

He pushes Dean’s underpants down and keeps kissing him until his qaa is on the floor too. They step apart still holding each other’s eyes until, but unspoken agreement, they look down and take in the full sight of each other. Dean isn’t aroused at the moment, but he does seem to be somewhat above average – or at least the average to Castiel’s knowledge going by the clan. In his all, with his scars and freckles, Dean is very beautiful.

“Uncut.” Dean looks up at him again, grinning. “I totally called it.”

“Why? Because I’m a Hamiaah?” Castiel rolls his eyes and pushes past him to take the water off the grill. “There are plenty of us that have been circumcised for medical reasons. It’s not a foreign practice to us. I didn’t need it since I never had the problem of phimosis and I clean under the foreskin daily.”

Dean picks up one of the cloths and dips it into the water as soon as Castiel puts the pot down on the table. “It’s not a bad thing, Cas. I just kind of had a bet going with myself about how accurate all my fantasies about you have been. Now turn around and let me at your shoulders.”

Castiel doesn’t object. He turns around and drops his wings to give Dean more room. The water is even warmer than it should be on his skin, still cool from outside. It’s exquisite, and only more so when Dean rubs firmly in all the right spots. He lets his head drop forward and closes his eyes while Dean massages his shoulders and makes sure to clean everywhere around his wings. He doesn’t follow the path of the cloth with his lips and Castiel doesn’t ask why. It feels too good for him to want to worry about that at the moment.

He leans forward when Dean works the cloth further down his back, stopping only to soak the cloth again. His wings twitch slightly when Dean swipes over his lower back and continues to his backside. Dean gives as much attention there as he has everywhere else before he moves to Castiel’s legs, doing one from thigh to foot on one before moving to the other. Castiel hums little sounds of pleasure through it all, especially when Dean digs his thumbs into his muscles and rubs firmly down each leg.

At the guidance of Dean’s hands, Castiel turns around to face him. Even during the last time that they cleaned each other like this, Dean wasn’t this attention. They were still extremely new to the change in their relationship then. What Dean is doing now is the closest to reverence that anyone has given to his body before. It’s a dizzying feeling and when he meets Dean’s eyes again, the warmth in them isn’t just the heat of desire.

Dean leans in to kiss him while he runs the cloth over his throat and collarbone, passing under his jaw and ears. It’s simple, and tender, and it says a thousand words that find their way into the very fibers of him. Castiel’s wings fold forward, draping themselves around Dean as he pulls him forward to keep kissing him as Dean works the cloth over his chest and along his arms. They stop when Dean needs to rewet the cloth and Castiel looks down, watching him pass it over his stomach and across his hips.

When Dean touches his penis to carefully run the cloth over and around it, Castiel bites his lips and keeps his eyes firmly on what’s happening. It’s not a sensual touch meant to arouse him, but he can’t help the shiver of pleasure down his back. This is the first time he’s had someone else’s fingers touch him there and he almost feels too sensitive. At least Dean doesn’t linger there, moving to wipe down the front of his legs after he’s done. But by then, Castiel has already started to harden just from those simple touches and the thought that it’s _Dean_ paying such close attention to his body.

He pulls Dean to his feet when he’s done and kisses him soundly as he takes the cloth from him. Dean back smiles into the kiss and his grin only grows when Castiel steps away to put the water over the grill again. “I’m a lucky man, Cas.”

“And why is that?” He asks over his shoulder, ducking into the cave to put this cloth into his now empty bag of things that need to be washed. Castiel grabs a clean one from one of the shelves and returns to where Dean is waiting, leaning back against the table and drumming his fingers on its edge. It doesn’t escape his notice that Dean is slightly aroused now, but he pays no more attention to it than Dean does to his own state right now.

“Because I got you.” Dean pulls him close before Castiel can check the water temperature. “You’ve got the best wings around, you’re smart as hell, you’re drop dead gorgeous, and best of all you actually put up with me. Yeah, I’m a lucky, lucky man.”

“I could say the same to you.” Castiel’s smile gets lost in the kiss Dean gives him and he leans into the stretch of warm skin and solid muscle. He puts his hands on the table instead of on Dean’s hips. If he wants to wipe him down too, he’ll need to keep from touching Dean for as long as he can. It’s quickly becoming a pattern that as soon as he’s allowed to touch, he can’t stop.

This proves a difficult decision, especially when he ends up pressed against Dean’s side and the slide of his penis against Dean’s heated skin nearly crumbles his resolve. It’s enough to pull a gasp from him, his hips almost bucking to rub against him purely on instinct alone. Dean licks out to taste the soft sound of surprise, tongue teasing against his own. Castiel’s wings itch to fold forward and surround Dean and the twitch against his back with every push and pull of Dean’s kisses.

“Enough.” He manages, pushing himself away. “You still need to bathe.” There’s a trembling in his limbs and he needs to grip the handle of the pot with both hands to move it to the table or risk dropping it. “Turn around, please.”

Dean grins at him but does as he’s asked and Castiel carefully begins his own process of wiping Dean down. It doesn’t help his situation when Dean insists on making his own quiet noises of pleasure, curving his back under the press of the cloth. He hums repeated and more than once he lets out a soft groan. Castiel can’t tell if he’s doing it on purpose to work him up, or if he’s truly just enjoying the warm cloth and Castiel’s ministrations.

Judging by how Dean is in the same state as he was when he turned around, barely even half erect, Castiel thinks it might be the latter. A white hot bolt of heat sizzles down Castiel’s spine to settle in his gut when Dean tilts his head back, exposing his throat. It’s such a submissive gesture and it’s one he isn’t sure Dean knows the connotations of. He bites his lip, trying to focus instead on the cloth moving over Dean’s chest and the stark star below his collarbone.

The sharp breath Dean takes when Castiel moves below his stomach is not missed and Castiel forces himself to remain clinical. If he’s going to touch Dean to pleasure him, it will be after he’s finished cleaning him. It takes quite a bit of his willpower not to rush through wiping down his legs. Dean doesn’t make it easy for him as he spreads his legs to give Castiel better access to the white insides of his thighs.

No sooner has he finished does Castiel drop the cloth into the pot and step in between Dean’s legs. When he folds his wings forward and around him, one knocks the pot of water over and he can’t bring himself to care.

“You are insufferable.” He mumbles against the curve of Dean’s jaw, mouthing at the thin stubble there from a day without shaving. “You couldn’t even let me wash you properly, could you?”

“Like it was so easy for me.” Dean hisses, his hands sweep up Castiel’s back and stop dangerously close to the downy feathers around the base of his wings. “I was singing Hakuna Matata in my head the whole time I was wiping you down.”

Apparently Dean has much better self control than Castiel gives him credit for. He rolls his hips into Dean’s and muffles a groan against his throat. Without the barrier of clothing between them, the friction is maddening. The rhythm they set is slow, matching the slide of their kisses and the careful touch of their hands. Even now the curl and press of fingers doesn’t feel like it’s meant to arouse, although they certainly do. Each stroke of a palm over a hip is a gentle caress.

Castiel only pulls away when he wants to touch Dean properly, when he asks against his lips for Dean to show him how he likes to be touched. He learns how Dean prefers to be stroked and lets Dean’s fingers guide his own to the places that make him twitch, or arch his back, or drop his mouth open to pant for breath. Every movement and reaction is watched closely and Castiel devotes all of it to memory.

There is no basis for which moments with Dean are the most important. Castiel enjoys them all equally. But right now, when he’s holding Dean’s eyes with his own and watching for the moment when they glaze over, this is when he has all of Dean. These are the moments when he has Dean’s mind, his body, and his heart. Two of them shake apart under Castiel’s hands as halting, broken gasps work their way out of Dean’s throat. The third is written across his face and in the kiss he pulls Castiel into, filled with the words he said with the flowers still blooming brightly in the small pots gathered together on the table behind him.

When they’re like this, Castiel doesn’t have the time or the mental capacity to think about anything beyond Dean. He can’t think about more than Dean’s hands sliding sure over his skin, searching for himself all the ways Castiel likes to be touched. Dean asks with curious touches, never giving voice to the same questions Castiel asked him before.

Losing himself in everything that Dean gives him is far better than falling to his worries about the war and the effect it will have on their fresh but still achingly familiar relationship. This intimacy between them is so new, but it feels like this was what they were working toward from the very beginning. It feels so _right_ and Castiel can barely believe he was so blind that he didn’t see just how very possible it was for him to have Dean months ago.

If only he didn’t have to leave him again so soon. 


	33. Looking Back and Moving Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe he doesn’t need to say it. Maybe Cas already knows. The look he’s giving him over his shoulder kind of makes him feel like he does. Cas is all warm eyes and smiles and it’s setting Dean on fire in an entirely different way than he’s used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

After their bath, the day had been exceptionally lazy – even for a winter one. Castiel barely worked on his mat and he and Dean had spent hours nearly napping together on the othil. They had hardly bothered to get dressed afterward, both of them only putting on their underclothes before curling together under a blanket. There had been hushed whispers of conversation, but mostly they just enjoyed the silence and the feel of having the other so close.

Of course, Castiel had been plagued by thought throughout it all. He didn’t want to be, but he couldn’t keep the worries from invading his mind. Even during and after dinner, while Dean had talked at length about the story arc of his favourite television show – something he swears he’ll show him one day – Castiel had been quiet. He had only listened with half an ear and he feels a little bad about not giving Dean his full attention like he should have.

But the worries are eating away at him with every passing hour that brings them closer to the day when he’ll have to return to the clan. He’s worried that Raphael won’t take the news of his relationship with Dean well. If Iaidon refuses the relationship – No, that’s not something he wants to think about. There are too many paths down that line of thought and none of them will leave him feeling any better than he does right now. Another worry that fills his thoughts is over Raphael’s plan and the looming possibility that their clan might move even farther south to where it will be very difficult for him to leave to see Dean, or even for Dean to come see him.

Are worries like this normal for relationships? He had similar worries when they were just friends, but now he knows it’ll hurt so much more if they do get separated.

These thoughts make it hard for him to stop touching Dean throughout the evening, hoping that if he stays pressed against him, the thoughts will go away. As he pulls Dean close against his chest while they settle into the nest, Castiel buries his face between the side of Dean’s neck and the pillow.

During the time that it takes him to fall asleep, Castiel weighs the pros and the cons of simply abandoning the clan altogether. If he relies on Dean for the meat and the supplies that he would usually get through the clan, he could theoretically continue to live as he has these last fifty years. It’s not like he would be missing much, really. The only terrible thing would be not being able to see Balthazar again.

Despite having his status back, Castiel doesn’t feel like he’s been accepted by the clan again. He tries hard to act like the last fifty years never happened while he plays the part he once did. Those of a lower status than him listen without fail and follow his orders without objection, but it doesn’t feel right. No one is blatantly mean to him, but Castiel still feels alienated. The only person who doesn’t make him feel like that is Balthazar, but they’re both from different divisions and Castiel doesn’t see him as often as he would like to.

If he abandons the clan, Castiel would have no one except for Dean, Silvanus, and the forest. It wouldn’t be much different to what he is used to from the last few decades, but would it be enough? At least he had the clan gathering every summer. He could have entered the boundaries if he wanted to endure the cold, hateful stares just to be surrounded by people for a change. And he still had Balthazar during those times. Despite how their conversations were often short and focused mainly on trade, Balthazar was still a breath of fresh air in Castiel’s lonely life.

But could he give that all up for Dean?

Castiel leans back slightly, staring at the back of Dean’s head. He squeezes his arm tighter around Dean’s stomach and smiles when a warm hand closes over his, their fingers sliding together. The question echoes through his mind again and Castiel is sorely tempted to answer it with a ‘yes’. This feels so very _right_ – like they were meant for this from the moment he walked through that clearing. But Castiel knows better than to put all his happiness in Dean. It’s not because he doesn’t believe that Dean will be able to keep him happy, but because the future is unpredictable.

What if Castiel abandons the clan for Dean and is exiled for it, but this relationship of theirs doesn’t work out? He’s not naïve. He knows that there are plenty of relationships that start out strong but don’t last. It’s one of the many worries that he has concerning the long stretches of time they’ll have between being allowed to see one another. Even if he’s living here and Dean comes to spend a week or two a month with him, there will still be weeks where they don’t see each other, depending on where Dean is hunting and how long it takes him to complete the hunt. So much time apart might strain their relationship and if it hurts them both too much, they might chose to end it.

If he leaves the clan completely and his relationship with Dean fails, Raphael might not be very keen on letting him return. And it would be pointless to have any hope of travelling south, or even across the seas, to join a different clan. The colour of his wings all but guarantees that none of them would welcome him as openly as he wished they would.

There is always the option of _removing_ his wings. It’s a dangerous process that he might not survive, but if he did it, he could go with Dean anywhere. Castiel could see the Human’s world as Humans do and travel with Dean. He could hunt at his side and see the various places that Dean calls ‘home’ – Sam’s house, Bobby’s house, even his car.He would be able to sit in that obnoxiously loud beast without being uncomfortable or risking catching his wings in the doors.

It would be an interesting experience, certainly, but giving up his wings is just a different kind of permanent sacrifice. He would never be able to get them back. What if it didn’t work out with Dean? Where would that leave him? Castiel would never be able to fly again. And the effects of losing your wings isn’t completely known. It could possible cost him his powers too and without those he might not be able to talk to the forest again. And without his powers, he wouldn’t be able to keep Silvanus alive either. If he left, Silvanus would slowly fade until he becomes a part of the forest again – just as Castiel had found him.

He muffles a yawn against the back of Dean’s neck and closes his eyes. Sleep comes to him while his thoughts are still on Silvanus and how, after all they’ve been through, he couldn’t possibly leave him to wither away again.

x

Not even the voice of the forest is enough to fill the silence that follows him day and night. The cave he found echoes with the underground stream that cascades through the rocks into a natural pool, but it’s just like the sound of the birds and the animals in the underbrush - a background noise that he barely registers. There are worlds of difference between the silence of being alone, and the silence of people simply not talking.

How long will it take for the quiet to drive him mad?

Castiel tries to occupy his time and his mind with creating a permanent shelter. The cave is a good basis to build his home around. It’s a good spot with a clearing before the cave mouth to give him plenty of space to grow the rest of his home. Though that will take some time and quite a bit of his energy. It will likely be a few years before he has a proper home that he’ll be satisfied with. In the meantime, the cave will suffice and in between growing the trees to form his home, he’ll carve out shelves in the cave walls.

This location is only a day’s walk away from where he grew up with his parents and it isn’t a very long flight to Juniper if he ever wants to visit his spirit tree. She’s somewhere between here and his childhood home – though he has no desire to visit that place. It’s where his parents died and the memories there would be too strong for him to bear. He would rather remember them as they were, rather than how they died. The memories of their death taint all the happy times he had there.

Part of the reason Castiel chose to live this far south was to be close to Juniper. Another part was to ensure that he would not run into any other Hamiaah. The only clans left on the western continents are his own in the north and Michael’s on the southern continent and it is very rare for a Hamiaah to be alone between them. The only groups of Hamiaah in between would be raiding parties sent out to deal with incursions of Hamiamma.

If the loneliness doesn’t get to him, Castiel thinks he might be able to enjoy it here. At least there won’t be anyone to glare at him for the colour of his wings and the tragedy his poor judgment caused. That is, perhaps, the only good thing about his self-imposed exile. He’s always loved the forest and the sense of peace the trees and plants bring to him. But he’s never been this _alone_ before. There’s no telling how it might affect him.

His first few years are spent growing and shaping his home. Castiel creates a place for himself in the forest, making sure that all the animals knows he’s here and that he means them no harm. Many of them become the closest things he’ll likely ever have to friends and even if their deaths are natural – just another part of the circle of life – he is sad for their passing.

He tries not to waste his time with exploring the area around his new home. His priority is finishing his shelter. Every winter that passes without a proper home is a struggle to stay warm and keep himself busy. The cave isn’t large enough and Castiel has spent the last few winters so far fighting the claustrophobia by spending as much time as he is capable outside working on growing the trees. He planted the seeds and now he spends his time growing and shaping them to twist together.

Only after his home is shaped and he is comfortable in calling it a salman does he take to exploring the area in increasingly wider circles. Castiel has lived in the forest for years and the only paths he’s ever taken are the ones that get him what he needs – to the river or the lake for bathing, to the roosting grounds for eggs, and to the garden he planted on a plateau not far from his salman where it would get more sunlight than the clearing.

Some days, while exploring, he doesn’t make it back to the salman before dark. On those nights, Castiel grows himself a nest in the trees and sleeps suspended high above the ground. Soon it becomes normal for him to camp out rather than return to his salman. It allows him to explore further and further and he can always fly back instead of walking if he needs to return quickly.

On one such excursion, Castiel goes deeper into the forest and the mountains than he thinks anyone other than the animals has ever been. Here the trees grow close together, untouched and unseen for centuries. There are whole valleys that feel sacred simply to walk through and Castiel barely dares to breathe as he passes through them.

He finds the cave by accident. The underbrush was too dense and the only path he could take had led him through a clearing. It’s the tree that catches Castiel’s eye first – massive, old, and brimming with a power that sets his feathers on edge. The power is _ancient_ and strangely welcoming. Castiel is drawn to it and between the roots he finds the cave – a gaping mouth under the tree that stretches deep into darkness.

By all rights, he should have turned and walked away. Castiel should have taken wing and left this place far behind. But just like the tree, he is drawn to the cave and the mysteries it might hold. Luminous lichen grows beneath his feet, spreading out ahead of him to light his path as glowing mushrooms brighten the walls and ceiling. He follows the cave, going deeper and deeper into the ground until even the air changes. It’s musty and old, undisturbed for centuries. There is no doubt in his mind that even animals don’t dare come down here.

That thought should have made him turn around and go back, but there is something here pulling at Castiel’s bones. This place holds a sense of familiarity to him, though he’s sure that he has never been here before. He never went this far into the mountains with his parents. And yet, the path he takes feels _known_. Like he walked it once in another life. Hamiaah believe in the cycle of death and rebirth, a never ending circle. By that thinking, it’s entirely possible that he _has_ been here before.

Castiel continues onward until the tunnel he is following spreads out. It happens all at once and Castiel flares his wings until the primaries touch the stone walls again. Apparently he’s reached a cavern and it’s far bigger than he would have suspected at first. He can nearly reach his full wingspan in here. He summons his powers and feels it flow through his veins, releasing into the ground beneath his feet and spreading out until the entire cavern is lit with various glowing fungi. It is truly a sight to behold, but Castiel’s breath is stolen by the beast curled in the center of the room.

The creature is nothing more than a skeleton of dried, cracked wood. Rotted vines sag between the craggy head and the main body, barely even connecting the feet at all. The natural moss of the cave has grown over the beast in places. The roots of trees have broken through the ceiling of the cavern, twisting down until they almost cradle the body of the beast. It almost looks like the forest is trying to reclaim the beast as its own.

By all accounts, Castiel should be afraid – yet all he feels is awe because he knows this beast. It is a creature that Hamiaah still speak of in legend, though the stories are old and hardly ever told now. There are songs of the guardian who protected the forests and the land centuries ago from those who would threaten it. A creature born of Caosgi and shaped by the powers of a mirlonsa, like Castiel. It saddens him that he can’t remember the creature’s name and that there is no one for him to ask or tell about this lost piece of history.

It only takes him a few minutes to decide what to do.

Castiel unties his travel pack from around his waist and shoulders, slipping it to the floor slowly. He drinks from a flask of water before he sits in front of the creature, close enough that if he reached out, he could touch its nose. With his hands folded in his lap, fingertips pressed together, Castiel closes his eyes and he concentrates. He gathers his powers and feeds them into the ground, stretching his senses out through Caosgi and groping in the dark until he finds the shape of the creature before him.

If the creature was born of Caosgi and a mirlonsa’s powers once before, then it can be done again.

Like he would with any tree, Castiel renews the body first. It takes him a whole day to grow new bark for the limbs, fresh and not weathered by time. The second day he gives life to the vines until they grow as thick around as his legs. It’s like adding muscles and flesh to a skeleton, healing it and giving new life. On the third day, Castiel is fighting exhaustion, hunger, and dehydration. What little of his powers he can spare to strengthen himself, he uses, but most of it is poured directly into the creature as he struggles to give life to legend.

He hasn’t opened his eyes in days, but neither has he slept. His body is screaming at him, but if Castiel even stops for a moment he might fail. It’s not something he can risk despite how his wings hang listless to the floor and he sways where he sits. At the first creak of wood, he sighs in relief. It is a blessing and Castiel finally opens his eyes.

The glowing fungi he grew three days ago has long since disappeared, but there is a new light to see by now. It glows between the ribs of the creature, catching in the dust that shakes from the beast as it moves for the first time in centuries. Red leaves unfurl from the branches above its head, rustling in time with the vines that form its limbs as it stands. There’s so much _noise_ where there has only been only silence and it breaks against him like a wave, rocking him where he sits.

Castiel watches as the creature opens its mouth and roars a bellow that knocks dirt from the walls of the cavern. The beast shakes itself out, stretching before it turns luminous blue eyes to him. There’s something in those eyes – recognition, maybe? It’s almost as if the beast _knows_ him. All Castiel can do is tilt his head and smile. It was nearly the end of him, but he did it. He did what no one has done for centuries.

The name from a history near forgotten comes to his lips and Castiel says the beast’s name without care for how he knows it now when he couldn’t remember it before.

“Silvanus.”

x

Dean yawns and stretches the half of his body that isn’t pinned under Cas. Sometime during the night, Cas rolled onto his stomach but stayed half on top of Dean with his face squished against his neck and an arm and leg thrown over him – not to mention the wing Cas always drapes over them at night. It’s fine though. Dean kind of really loves sleeping like this and even though sharing Cas’s nest isn’t anything new to them, it’s still been way too long since Dean’s woken up next to someone he knew he could just roll over and kiss stupid first thing in the morning.

And of course, he’s got the whole morning wood thing going and that’s just _awesome._ Usually, if he woke up next to Cas like this, he’d do his best to hide it until it either went away or he was able to sneak out and go take care of it. The mere fact that he doesn’t have to do that anymore is pretty damn sweet. Not to mention that if he plays his cards right, Cas might actually want to help him out in that department. Which is a whole different realm of _hell yes_.

Nothing really beats rolling carefully onto his side until Cas gets the hint and moves on his own, making sleepy little grumbling sounds in the process. He’s got the whole pinched face thing going – the kind of face people get when they’re waking up before wanting to wake up. Cas rolls onto his side too until they’re face to face, leg still hooked over his. Dean slowly gathers Cas’s hands in his and pulls them up until he can press kisses to his fingers, watching Cas’s face in the shadows.

The frown fades when Cas blinks his eyes open, taking another minute or two to wake up and focus. Then he’s smiling. It spreads slow and sweet over his mouth and Dean wants to give up on his fingers to taste the first smile of the day. He was right, though. Nothing beats Cas’s smile first thing in the morning when he wakes up and Dean can see the moment he realizes that this is _real_. Realizing that you’re able to touch and kiss and not have to hide how you feel anymore is – it’s deliriously good and Dean loves seeing that moment for Cas.

“Morning.” Dean murmurs against Cas’s fingers, turning them to kiss the pad of each one. “Sleep well?”

“I dreamed about the day I brought Silvanus back into existence.” Cas gets the words out around a yawn before he pulls his hands out of Dean’s grip and wiggles closer. “And you?”

He hums and gets close enough that he knows the exact moment when Cas feels his hard-on against his thigh. “Yeah, I had some pretty good dreams too.” Not that he remembers them, but that doesn’t really matter right now because Cas is getting that wide-eyed look again, eyes flicking down a few times to look at Dean’s mouth. And that’s always just a lead up to Cas leaning in and –

Dean doesn’t care about how audible the happy sigh he makes is when Cas kisses him. Cas hasn’t been shy yet about anything he does with Dean. It’s like he doesn’t know shame when it comes to their bodies and that’s a whole new realm of awesomeness right there. He doesn’t hesitate with rolling them so Dean is on his back again, or pushing the blanket out of the way so he can straddle Dean’s hips while kissing him stupid. It makes Dean’s toes curl in his socks and he can’t help rocking up into that weight or grabbing at Cas and all his skin, touching everything that he’s wanted to touch for fucking _months_. They’ve only got a few days left to them and Dean hasn’t memorized all of him yet.

Morning make outs have always been one of Dean’s favourite things. Sure, he likes sleeping next to someone after losing himself in their mouth and hands. But getting to wake up next to them and get it all over again – it’s one of the best things ever. It’s a reminder that he’s not alone. It’s a reminder that someone cares for him and they want him, _need_ him. It’s exhilarating and makes him feel like he can defy gravity if he wanted to – not that he does. He really likes having his feet firmly planted on the ground.

Cas has sneaky hands. It’s something Dean didn’t know until they started doing this, but he’s got _really_ sneaky fingers. They have this habit of ending up places without Dean really knowing how they got there. So far, Cas has been really good at finding all the spots on Dean that make him bend and shiver and gasp little noises that he’s not sure he’s ever made with anyone else. Although that might be because they’re alone in the middle of the forest. It feels like an entirely different world when he’s out here with Cas. Like he’s a million miles away from all the problems of the real world – no hunting, no John, no wars. It’s just _them_ and Dean can be as ridiculous as he wants to be.

That said, when Cas’s hands slip down his stomach and one hikes his shirt up while the other does a straight shot under the waistband of his pajama pants, Dean really isn’t expecting it. He makes a strangled noise of surprise into the kiss when Cas’s fingers – his cold, fucking _cold_ , fingers – bypass the hem of his boxers and wrap around his dick like he’s done it a hundred times before even though yesterday afternoon was the first time they actually got their hands on each other properly. There is literally no way Dean can keep from rocking his hips into Cas’s hand, pressing into his palm and fingers, asking for more with his body that he can’t with words.

Dean manages a swear sometime between Cas tracing designs with the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth and when Cas starts stroking him nice and slow. The angle is a little weird, but Cas isn’t complaining and Dean sure as hell isn’t either, especially not when he’s having trouble just finding the faculties necessary to untie Cas’s loincloth enough so he can get his own hands inside and return the favour. He used to be really good at this, at multitasking between sucking someone’s tongue while getting up to no good with his hands. But something about Cas makes all that experience go flying out the window and he’s left fumbling clumsily, rushing to have _everything_.

Thankfully that’s not something that Cas seems to mind. Hell, he seems happy with just grinding his own erection against Dean’s thigh while kissing him like it’s how he breathes. Everything Cas does drives Dean just a little more wild. He makes it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to imagine that he only gets this for another two days before they’re back to phone calls and wondering when they’ll see each other next. Maybe the only thing that’ll get him through that is knowing that now, when he sees Cas again, he’ll be allowed to sweep him up in a hug and bury his fingers in Cas’s feathers and kiss him off his feet.

Cas’s wings fold forward over them again, like when they were grinding on the couch before. It doesn’t really change much in the matter of the light, but all the sounds get louder. Feathers rustle around them and Dean abandons Cas’s hips to sink his hands into them. It earns him a sharp groan against his mouth and Cas ruts harder for a few rolls of his hips. Dean cards his fingers through the feathers on a mission to the downy soft ones where his wings join his back. If he can’t get his hands on Cas’s dick, then he’ll just have to give him pleasure in other ways.

As soon as he starts rubbing lightly at those little glands under his wings, Cas abandons his mouth entirely. His hands come up and push under Dean, wrapping around his shoulders to hold him tight as he hides his face against his neck. Cas’s wings break apart too, arching above them as oil spills of black in the shadows, stretching out and filling the air. He’s breathing hard against Dean’s throat, mouthing at his skin between shuddering gasps of his name.

Knowing that _he_ brought Cas to the point where he’s barely coherent is dizzying. Dean could probably get off on that alone if he had to. Cas is trembling hard against him, almost incapable of lining their hips up so every movement at least gets them some of the friction they’re craving. But it’s not enough. Dean wants Cas to lose it completely. He wants to hear that little punched out noise Cas makes just before he comes, body locking up and wings flaring wide. He wants him shaking and gasping _post orgasm_ – a reminder that _he’s_ the only person who’s ever brought Cas to this.

Dean leaves Cas’s oil glands alone long enough to work his own clothes down enough that his dick is pinned between his stomach and the soft leather of Cas’s loincloth. It’s nice, but it’s not as soft as Cas’s skin and _that’s_ what he wants to grind against. All it takes is another minute of fumbling and he’s shoving the fucking loincloth down too. Cas groans loudly against his collarbone, hips jerking sharply the moment they get skin moving on skin.

Too much friction and not enough precome has Dean wishing he’d had the forethought to stash the lube up in the nest instead of leaving it in his bag on the floor. It takes him a few seconds of gritting his teeth through rough thrusts that has even Cas making soft, unhappy noises against him for Dean to make up his mind.

Cas keens and arches, his head thrown back and mouth dropped open when Dean finds the little oil glands again and squeezes on one of them just like if he was helping him preen. He shudders hard and for a moment Dean thinks that Cas came from just that and he didn’t even get a chance to smooth things between them with the oil coating his fingers. That thought fades away pretty quick when Cas starts kissing him harder than before with a growl on his lips, wings flapping a little before they’re folding over them again.

At least he stops moving long enough for Dean to get his hand between them, oil-slick fingers slipping over his stomach until he gets his hand around both of them. Almost immediately Cas starts moving again, fucking into his fist and sliding his dick against Dean’s in a way that has him seeing stars.

It’s around then that Cas starts murmuring against Dean’s lips, quiet little words that come out on sighs, and moans, and more than once on a growl. It takes Dean a while to realize it’s _Enochian_ and he manages to recognize ‘micaloz’ in there a few times before he gives up trying to parse words from it. He won’t know what they mean anyways and maybe he’ll remember later to ask Cas what they are. Right now, he’s more focused in getting lost in everything Cas is doing to him with his fingers in his hair and his mouth against his.

Dean’s chest feels tight, like his lungs are too small and his heart is too big. He never thought he’d get to have this with Cas but now he does and it’s everything he hoped for and more. Christ, Dean feels _full_ on a level he’s never really felt anything on before and it’s fucking with his head – making him think things along the lines of _commitment_ that he’s never thought much of before Cas came along.

When Cas starts tensing up and getting a little more desperate with the roll of his hips, he starts chanting Dean’s name. It’s a low, steady murmur against the side of his neck until he scrapes his teeth over Dean’s pulse and makes that punched out little noise that sends shivers skating down Dean’s spine. It gets a hell of a lot wetter between Dean’s fingers and even though he came, Cas doesn’t stop moving until Dean tilts his head back into the pillow and groans Cas’s name into the canopy of his feathers.

They slow to a stop together and Cas’s wings tremble a little, feathers dragging against Dean’s arms as they fold into place against his back. He sways back and forth for a moment before slipping to the side with a soft ‘omph’, face smushed against Dean’s shoulder. Dean sits up enough to pull his shirt off, using that to wipe his hand and their stomachs clean before he bundles it up and tosses it over the side of the nest in the general direction of his bag. Cas gives him enough time to tuck himself into his pants again before he’s pulling him back down under the blankets and his wing.

“Remind me again why we haven’t woken up like that before?” Dean mumbles, curling against Cas’s chest and tucking his nose into the warm curve of his neck.

“I would, but I don’t want to think very hard right now.” Cas answers, sliding his fingers through Dean’s hair. “I’d much rather go back to sleep.”

He reaches down between them to pull Cas’s loincloth back up, grinning against Cas’s neck as he squirms while Dean makes sure he’s tucked in properly. “I could stand for an early morning nap as long as it’s followed up with brunch.” Cas hums into his hair and curls his arms tightly around Dean’s shoulders. He waits a beat before asking his next question. “What were you saying in Enochian?”

“Ozien.” Cas mumbles against his forehead, thumb stroking over the back of his neck. “Oh-zod-ee-eh-en. It means ‘mine own’.” He yawns and squeezes his arms tighter, pressing a kiss into the line of his hair. “My Dean. Ozien.”

It’s the only answer he gets before Cas’s breathing evens out and Dean smiles into his skin. Yeah, that’s about right. He’s been Cas’s for longer than he knows and he’s more than okay with that. He’s never really been someone’s anything before. It’s not that he wasn’t Cassie’s boyfriend, or Lisa’s multi-weekend fling for awhile, but this thing with Cas right now just feels like so much _more_ than all that. Whenever he’s with Cas he feels warm and full and most importantly he feels _happy_.

And that’s still something so _new_ it’s almost terrifying.

Dean takes a longer to fall back to sleep than Cas did, but he’s not complaining. There’s nothing to really complain about when he’s this content simply existing. Even when he wakes up closer to noon, there still isn’t anything to complain about. Not even when Cas wakes him up by tickling his neck and shoulders with his feathers until Dean shoves him away and rolls over. Then it’s gentle kisses against the back of his neck and the promise of eggs and bacon and flatcakes covered in that purple flower syrup that Cas had made for him when he was sick.

The only part about getting out of bed that Dean hates is having to get wrapped up to go freeze his dick off while taking a piss. He doesn’t say anything when he gets back inside, but he does give Cas a pointed look and he gets a shrug in response.

“If either of us was going to be spending more time here during the winter, I would look into growing an extension for you since you’re so opposed to the jars.” He doesn’t even look up from shoving the eggs around in the pan while he talks. “But I suspect that after we leave neither of us will be returning here while there is still snow on the ground.”

That makes something painful twinge between Dean’s ribs. It’s barely into January and he’s got two more days, not counting today, before they’ve got to head out. That leaves at least three solid months of snow and if even _Cas_ doesn’t think they’ll see each other during that, then what kind of hope does he have? Fuck, _no_. He’s not going to start thinking like that. There are still those cabins Cas mentioned that are near the clan. So really, it’s totally possible that they’ll be seeing each other before winter is over. It just won’t be _here_.

Yeah, that sounds like something he’d much rather hope for than anything else at the moment. And judging by the droop of Cas’s wings, that something he needs to be reminded about too. Dean gets as close to leaning against Cas’s back as his can, arms looped around his waist while he reminds him about the cabins and all the things they could do while spending a week, or even just a weekend in one of them. He even keeps half of the things they could do clean – like watching TV, reading books, Cas showing him how to make mats, and so on.

Right there is something that still amazes him about Cas. He’s wanted to touch him for a long time and thought that once he got the chance, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him. It’s how he was with Cassie and Lisa and anyone he’s even remotely had a relationship with in the past. But with Cas, he’s equally happy just spending time with him. Dean doesn’t feel like everything is leading up to sex when they’re together. Sure, it’s something that _could_ happen, but if he and Cas were able to go on dates like a stereotypical couple, he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be disappointed with walking Cas to his door and not getting invited in for a nightcap.

This is the first time his relationship hasn’t revolved around sex and it’s all kinds of refreshing. And it’s a hell of a lot more satisfying than he ever thought it would be. Dean kind of feels like this is something he should tell Cas. It feels important somehow, like Cas needs to know how much he means to him and how their relationship is different for him than all the others, but the words get stuck in his throat. He’s never been a man of words before and all the conversations they’ve had over the phone wasn’t _this_ kind of talking.

Maybe he doesn’t need to say it. Maybe Cas already knows. The look he’s giving him over his shoulder kind of makes him feel like he does. Cas is all warm eyes and smiles and it’s setting Dean on fire in an entirely different way than he’s used to.

They eat breakfast mostly in silence, communicating in smiles and glances that set fireworks off all along Dean’s spine whenever they meet each other’s eyes. He’s got a feeling like something is building up between them right now and he’s not entirely sure about what it is. It’s nothing _bad_ , not from what he can tell, but there’s an itch under his skin that nags at him through the rest of breakfast and clean up.

Cas works on his mat for a while before he starts getting antsy. Maybe he can’t take being cooped up in here for as long as Dean thinks he can. Either way, his wings are getting twitchy and Dean’s more interested in watching them over the edge of his book than he is in reading it. He waits ten minutes of little half flutters before he opens his mouth.

“Want to go for a walk?”

They’re outside in under five minutes, Cas’s fingers linked between Dean’s and warm in his pocket while they follow the path Silvanus cleared. Since they’re not in any kind of rush, they take their time walking through the quiet of the forest. It’s a hell of a lot different during winter than it is all the other seasons that Dean’s been here. Everything even looks different and if it wasn’t for the path, he’s pretty sure he’d have gotten lost and all turned around by now.

Dean doesn’t really pay a whole lot of attention to where they’re going. He’s more interested in not slipping on patches of ice and the conversation they’re having about the most effective way to take down a rougarou – something Dean’s never encountered or heard of before and he’s not entirely convinced that Cas didn’t just make them up to mess with him. That launches into another quiz to make sure Dean knows his lore and before he knows it, they’re standing on the beach with a whole bay of undisturbed snow stretching out before them.

“Please tell me you’re not a part of the polar bear club.” He stares at the ice on the lake and shivers at the thought of Cas cutting a hole in it just to take one of his purifying swims. A kind of panicky little bubble blows up under his ribs at the thought of Cas diving under that ice. What if he comes up in the wrong spot? Or he can’t find the hole? No way. He can’t let him do that. It’s too dangerous.

Cas just looks at him, eyebrows pinched together. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Which means he has to explain. At least the way Cas kind of blanches is enough of an answer for Dean and he watches as Cas demonstrates how he purifies the lake during the winter. It involves rapidly growing a very small tree actually _in_ the lake not very far out from the beach. The tree breaks the ice and withers just as quickly as Cas grew it, leaving behind a ragged little hole that Dean doesn’t want to go anywhere near.

At least it’s not out in the middle of the lake. From experience, he knows it’s not even far enough for the water to be up to their hips. And as far as he knows, lakes don’t really have an undertow or a current rushing under the ice like a river does. At least he doesn’t remember feeling anything pulling at his ankles when he walked out this far during the summer.

Despite all that, Dean stays firmly rooted to the beach and watches Cas slide out to the hole in the ice. His whole right arm tingles in sympathy when Cas pulls off his glove, kneels on the ice, and shoves his arm into the water right up to his elbow. He winces and flexes his fingers in his pocket when Cas leaves it in there, wings flaring and getting that blue light glowing between the feathers while he does the whole purification thing. Dean figures, since he stays like that for so long, that it takes longer for Cas to purify it like this. Maybe the more water he’s touching, the less time it takes? It’s not like he knows the ins and outs of Cas’s powers – though that’s probably something he should be asking about at some point, isn’t it?

“You’re insane.” Dean announces when Cas finally comes back to shore, shaking his arm out and rubbing it over the front of his massive poncho-coat like that’ll do him any good. “Seriously, you can’t just let it go unpurified for the winter? Does it make that big of a difference in springtime?”

The fact that he doesn’t get an answer is enough to get him suspicious. The look Cas gives him, like he’s sizing him up, is enough to make the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end in warning. That’s never a feeling he likes having and the fact that _Cas_ is the one making it happen is probably not a very good sign. Yeah, that little smirk isn’t helping either.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He narrows his eyes at him and takes a step back when Cas takes one forward. Not because he’s scared or anything. A little suspicious, maybe. But it never hurts to err on the side of caution – especially when it comes to Cas.

“I’m cold, Dean.” Cas holds out his arms and gets a wide-eyed look of fake innocence going. It doesn’t fool Dean for a second. “I would like a hug.”

“I can do hugs. Just keep that hand to yourself until it’s not a popsicle, got it?” He points specifically at the hand that was elbow deep in ice.

Yeah, the innocent look is doing _nothing_ to boost his confidence in this hug right now. Dean stays cautions as he gets in a little closer, and a little closer, and then he’s close enough to hug. Has he mentioned yet that Cas has _fucking sneaky hands_? Cas doesn’t even give Dean the chance to drop his guard with the hug. The moment Dean’s got his arms around him, Cas’s wings fold forward to hold him in place and he’s shoving his hand up the back of Dean’s jacket, pushing it under his shirt and spreading icy fingers over his lower back.

Dean _doesn’t_ scream. Whatever sound it is that squeaks its way out of him is definitely not a scream. But it’s followed by a string of swears and Cas’s laughter as Dean tries twisting and pushing to shove him away, but Cas is a clingy fucker wants he wants to be. Like a koala, only not so demonic looking and a hell of a lot cuter. Cas does let him go, but only after his hand is made all nice and toasty by Dean’s body heat, achieved by not keeping his fucking hand _still_. Dean’s stomach and chest, hell even his _ass_ wasn’t safe from Cas’s twitchy cold fingers and he’s not even bothered in the slightest by Dean’s swearing, threats, and every attempt to push him away that doesn’t involve flailing fists.

He stomps half the way back to the house, making sure Cas stays ahead of him so he can’t pull any tricky moves. Cas looks way too fucking pleased with himself and that’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. With all his ‘warrior training’, Dean half expected to get caught out before he shoved the snowball down the back of Cas’s coat, knowing full well that his shirt has a great big open spot in the back where his wings are. This also means that Cas has nothing really holding the snow ball from just falling out the bottom of his coat, so Dean makes extra sure to tuck up against his back, wrapping his arms around Cas’s waist and holding on tight to squish the snowball between them.

Cas makes all sorts of frustrated, unhappy noises and he squirms and flaps his wings like that’ll get Dean off of him. But Cas can’t flare his wings straight back with Dean standing where he is and it’s a little weird to feel the muscle and bone pushing against his chest, but it’s not like he’s squishing Cas’s wings down or hurting him. Dean’s listening for any kind of _pained_ sound, because it’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt, right? And that’s the last thing he ever wants to do.

“An eye for an eye, right Cas?” He laughs against the back of his neck, pressing cold kisses along the neckline of his coat. “Say ‘uncle’, and I won’t shove another one down there.”

“If we’re continuing our battle from the other day, Dean, you are sorely mistaken in thinking I’ll give up so easily.” Cas huffs and then he’s reaching back over his head to grab handfuls of Dean’s jacket. It’s all he really sees before he’s pitching forward as Cas bends over and fucking _flips_ him over his head until Dean’s upside down on his back in a snow bank.

“You son of a bitch.” He hisses, flailing in the powdery snow and getting it in all the little nooks and crannies of his clothes where snow just doesn’t belong while trying to get his feet back under him. “You better run, Cas.”

But Cas is already crouched and forming a snowball, a cocksure grin on his lips. Dean kind of sort of really loves seeing Cas like this, all smiles and amusement and actually having _fun_. It’s enough of a reason for him to spend the entire walk back to the house ducking in and around trees while trying to peg Cas with snowball after snowball while he’s doing the same damn thing.

They’re laughing and breathless by the time they get back inside and even if they’re damp and sweaty and still full of giggles, Dean pulls Cas close and kisses him. He wants to taste that laughter and find some way to bottle it up and keep it with him. If he had a damn video function on his phone, he’d record it and set it as Cas’s ringtone or something because he wants to hear it all the time. It should be put on repeat as the background music for his life.

Their clothes get hung from the nest to dry and Dean wraps himself in a blanket on the couch with a book. He sits close enough to the end by Cas that he can stretch out a foot and touch him if he wants to while Cas works on his mat. With how little time they have left, Dean doesn’t want to ask to learn how to make one right now. Cas needs to focus on finishing this one before he leaves so it doesn’t get fucked up when he takes it back to the clan. Next time, Dean reminds himself. He’ll ask to learn about the mats next time.

God help anyone and anything that tries to keep him from seeing Cas again as soon as possible.

Lunch is more of a snack to tide them over until a late supper. Dean cooks everything so Cas doesn’t have to stop with his mat. He’s pretty focused on weaving the design into place and Dean doesn’t want him to lose his groove for something like cooking when it’s a job that Dean can totally do. Besides, as the official ‘boyfriend’ he’s not just a guest anymore. At least, he doesn’t think he is, and he definitely hasn’t felt like one for half a year now. So it’s no problem for him to roll up his sleeves and get to work as if this was his own place – if he had one.

In the last three months, while waiting to see Cas again, Dean had contemplated getting a place of his own so Cas could come visit him too. He thought about that for all of two minutes before deciding that he didn’t want to risk some hunter getting wind of an Angel close to a city and end up following him back here. Not to mention that Dean is way too nomadic for a place of his own.

With all the monster hunting that he does, having a permanent place is a pipe dream. It just doesn’t make  sense to keep going back to one place when he’s basically got three homes scattered throughout his hunting grounds. Sure, he’s made a few trips south-east, but he normally keeps to the Midwest around Bobby’s house and around the west coast where he can visit with Sam and Jess. Plus, he kind of likes to keep it close to Idaho so he can drive out to see Cas whenever he’s allowed to come by.

Besides, he kind of likes referring to this place as ‘home’. Bobby’s place is Bobby’s house and even if Dean has a bed there, it’s never really felt like home. Hell, his _car_ has been more of a home to him than any place he’s ever slept in – except for the house back in Kansas before his mom died. But now there’s Cas and this place. Even if Dean misses some of the finer amenities about city living, the forest has something the city doesn’t and that’s _Cas_. He makes it all worthwhile and as long as there’s no snow on the ground, Dean would be more than happy to keep crapping in a bush.

Seriously though, looking up ancient septic systems is definitely on his list of things to do. There’s got to be a better way of doing his business out here without using a nasty jar in the back of the cave, let alone having to freeze his nuts off out in the cold.

Cas either has really good timing whenever he decides to stop what he’s doing just to come over and hug and kiss him, or he’s got that mind reading power Dean still suspects he has. Whenever he starts thinking about things that frustrate him a little about living out here, Cas almost always comes over to hug him and drop a kiss to his neck before going back to whatever he’s doing. It’s a hell of a distraction, like Cas is just reminding him with a little touch about why Dean loves coming out here.

He’s still thinking about all those why’s when they crawl into the nest later. It’s no surprise that most of them are centered around Cas and how fucking awesome Dean thinks he is. The rest of them are everything he’s already thought before – how coming out here is a vacation away from all the frustrating and annoying things in his life. If Cas lets him, maybe one day in the future, Dean wouldn’t mind considering this to be his home base permanently.

Tonight Cas shimmies up against his back, tucking his knees behind Dean’s and playing the big spoon just right. Over the last week, Dean’s kind of missed being the big spoon, but it’s totally worth being the little spoon when Cas folds a wing over him and presses little kisses to the back of his neck, his hand pushed up under Dean’s shirt so his thumb can stroke gently over his stomach as they settle down for the night. It’s pretty damn soothing and Dean finds himself fading fast.

That all comes to a screeching halt when Cas starts talking softly. “You’ve never had sex with a man.”

It’s not a question and Dean puts his hand over Cas’s, butterflies erupting just north of the gentle touch on his stomach. “Yeah, and neither have you.” Right now he doesn’t really feel like nitpicking that what they’ve been doing is technically just another kind of sex – that sex isn’t just straight up sticking your dick somewhere.

“I would like to.” Cas presses another kiss to his neck. “With you.”

Those butterflies go haywire and Dean’s head empties of every other thought except one. Jesus Christ, does he mean _right now_?


	34. Connected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. Castiel folds his wings around Dean and murmurs apologies against his sleep-warm mouth. He gives his apologies between gentle kisses and Dean’s smile grows between each one. It’s bright when Castiel steps away and gestures for Dean to continue preparing to go outside. Dean’s smile falls slightly and he glares at the entrance covering before unbuttoning it and stomping out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Dean rolls over slowly to face Cas. He doesn’t _look_ like he wants to have sex right now. Well, y’know, aside from the whole kissing and the being really close to him, Cas isn’t actually showing any of the signs Dean’s used to seeing. There’s no dilation in his pupils or colour in his cheeks – hell, he’s not even hard. At least not as far as Dean can tell, and they’re kinda squished together pretty tight.

Since Cas brought up the topic of sex, maybe he’s okay with talking about it and now they’re going to figure everything all out. They _are_ kind of running out of time for it – thought Dean would be totally fine if Cas wanted to wait until the next time they see each other. It might kill him, but he would wait. “So, do you mean right now?”

“Not at this very moment.” Cas smiles and leans in to kiss him softly. The topic of sex and the inclusion of kisses is sending very mixed signals all down Dean’s spine and he turns to thinking of baseball until Cas pulls back again. “But I would like to. Soon.”

“How soon is soon?” Oh good, at least he didn’t manage to sound _too_ hopeful with that question.

“Tomorrow, or the next day.” He shrugs and wiggles down under the covers a little further until he can tuck his head under Dean’s chin. “I want to have that with you before we leave. If it’s alright with you.”

Dean wraps Cas in his arms, careful of his wings. “I’m more than alright with it, Cas. Whenever you’re ready, you just say the word.”

Cas’s wing shifts higher over their shoulders, feathers tickling along Dean’s arm. “Are there things we need to discuss first? I know the mechanics of it, such as what goes where. But who will be the –”

He puts a hand over Cas’s mouth to keep him from using any sort of technical terms that might just kill the mood for him permanently. Cas already refuses to call his dick anything but what it is and ‘penis’ just makes Dean want to break down in giggles like a five year old. “What you’re asking is who’s going to top and who’s going to bottom?”

“I’m going to infer from those terms that you mean ‘bottom’ as the one on the receiving end.”

“Yeah, pretty much. The top gets to do the fucking and the bottom gets to be fucked.” Dean shrugs and tilts his head to push his nose into Cas’s hair. It’s thick and surprisingly soft and he has to fight from wanting to shove his fingers through it. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t be so blunt about it.”

There’s something really awesome about being able to _feel_ Cas’s smile against his collarbone. “I like when you’re blunt. It’s easier to understand what you mean if you’re not trying to be polite about it.”

“Oh good. I don’t do that whole ‘polite’ thing a lot.” He laughs and catches himself rubbing his nose into Cas’s hair. Okay, that has to stop. Dean Winchester may cuddle, but he damn well does not _nuzzle_. “Did you want to talk about all that stuff now or in the morning?”

Cas’s wings shift, the one under him spreading out from under the blankets across the rest of the nest. Dean can see it shifting, a dark pool of feathers against the greens and browns of the mats and blankets. It takes him a minute to talk and when he does, he sounds unsure. “You’ve had sex with women, but you haven’t with a man.”

“Yeah, we’ve been over that. What about it?”

“You have more experience than I do.” That _unsure_ thing keeps straining his voice and Dean really doesn’t like it.

He gives in to the temptation to play with Cas’s hair, sliding one hand up until his fingers can curl in the strands at the base of his neck. “Is that going to be a problem?”

“No, not at all. It’s – You’ve never been a bottom, and you have experience as a top. But only with women. I assume that experience can be applied when with men too.” Cas mumbles and starts drawing symbols with the point of his finger against Dean’s side. It’s a little ticklish, but not enough to tell him to stop. “When we have sex, would you have a preference to being one?”

Dean smiles into Cas’s hair and runs his fingers up a little higher. “Not really. I mean, I know what I’m good at, but I’d be okay with it if you want to top first.”

Which is only a half truth, really. He’d be okay being the one taking it because it’s _Cas_. If Cas wanted him to, Dean would try and walk on the moon for him. That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be worried about it. There are a ton of horror stories out there about it hurting, or the top pulling out with shit on his dick. Cas might not have heard about all that – depending on what people have told him about sex – so he probably doesn’t have the same anxieties Dean does.

“What if I don’t do it right?” Cas whispers against his throat and his wing curls in tighter over Dean’s shoulder. “I know the mechanics, but that doesn’t mean that I won’t accidentally do something wrong and hurt you. With women, have you ever tried any ana-”

“Ass, Cas. Just say _ass._ Technical terms are just –” He shrugs. “And yeah, I’ve used a finger or two when I was fooling around on my own in the shower. None of the ladies I’ve been with have been _that_ freaky.” Dean firmly does not let his thoughts remember all that. Now is so not the time. “But I only did that after I read up how to do it safely.”

“There are reading materials on that?” Cas lifts his head, eyes wide and surprised in the dark. “You should have brought me some of that. Why didn’t you?”

Dean knows it would be a bad idea to laugh at how disappointed Cas sounds, but it is kind of funny. Just a little. Because, seriously? If he’d had a moderately normal childhood and been put in the boy scouts like most kids his age, Dean would’ve rocked the badges like a hurricane. He’s so prepared for everything, it’s sometimes a little scary.

“I saved them to my laptop and you can read them tomorrow.”

Cas blinks at him a few times before he dips his head to tuck it back under his chin. “Oh.” He clears his throat and pulls Dean a little closer. “Thank you. I’m sure they’ll be informational and I hope they’ll adequately prepare me for being the – as you put it – ‘bottom’.”

Wait, what? Up until this point, Dean’s been going along the lines of thinking that Cas was leading up to asking if he could be the top their first time around. If he wasn’t able to outright ask for it, Dean was going to swallow his pride and offer to bottom because it’s gonna be Cas’s first time and shouldn’t he lose his man-cherry like a man? Okay, that was probably all sorts of politically incorrect right there – but _fuck_ what else is he supposed to think?

He swallows all the stupid words and questions he’s got building up in his throat. “If that’s what you want to do, Cas. I’ll do it.”

“It’s logical, really. It will be better if you’re in the position you know best. And when it’s my turn, I’ll have a better understanding of how to apply my theoretical knowledge and hopefully you’ll enjoy it.” Cas shifts against him, getting comfortable. “Thank you for preparing something to read. You can sleep now, Dean. We’ll discuss this more in the morning.”

“Night, Cas.” Dean kisses his forehead and lets his hand trail through Cas’s hair one more time.

He doesn’t think he’ll be sleeping anytime soon – not after the conversation they just had. How the hell is he supposed to not be nervous about this? Cas is _one hundred and thirty three years old_. There have been literally _several decades_ for him to look forward to this moment (not that he has) and what if Dean fucks it up? What if he doesn’t go slow enough, or Cas isn’t prepped enough? What if he _hurts_ him? Christ, what if he scars Cas from ever wanting to have sex again?

This is the exact reason he hasn’t really had sex with virgins since _he_ was a virgin. There’s too much riding on it because you want to make it special for them. And, God, this is going to be _so_ fucking different from anything Dean’s ever had before. This has _emotions_ in it. A lot of emotions. Metric fuck-tons of emotions because they’re actually in – They _care_ about each other and he’s never has _this_ with someone before having _that_.

God dammit. He’s going to chase his brain in circles if he keeps thinking about this. Cas is already starting to snore softly against his chest and that is causing all sorts of squishy-feelings in Dean’s chest. Cas deserves special. He deserves to have this be _great_ and Dean can – he _will_ – control himself. Even if he’s been waiting (dreaming) of having sex with Cas for the last six or more months, he can go slow and be careful and try really damn hard to make this good for him.

Just getting to be with Cas is already enough for Dean to know that he’s going to enjoy everything.

It’s not like he can really think about how he’s going to make this good for Cas until they talk about _how_ they’re going to do it. Cas seems to be going for the technical approach to this. Which is fine, really. Dean may be used to working in the heat of the moment, but they’ve had that a few times like that already and now Cas is the one calling the shots. He can step back and let Cas figure out how he wants to go ahead with all this.

Dean doesn’t have any preferences, after all. He just wants to be with Cas in all senses of the word. Of course he wants sex – basically been craving it for months – but for Cas? Jesus, if he’d wanted to wait another year or something because he wasn’t ready, Dean would’ve waited. He’s almost seventy eighty percent sure that he’d have been able to hold out.

Yup. Thinking is just making his head hurt and Dean squeezes his eyes shut, focusing to summon the sheep. The last number he remembers is somewhere in the thirties. After that, Cas is waking him up with kisses full of gentle smiles and whispered promises of a warm breakfast. Dean challenges any man to refuse that.

He sets up the laptop so Cas can read everything while Dean does the cooking and he reads straight through eating, eyes glued to the screen and tapping whatever buttons Dean shows him to use to scroll or switch documents. Cas frowns and mutters about technology whenever he clicks the wrong thing or hits the wrong button and needs Dean’s help to fix whatever he did, but he doesn’t complain about having to read from it. In fact, he kind of gets the hang of it a lot faster than Dean expected him to – which kinda makes Dean think about getting him an eReader for his birthday, or Valentine’s Day since Cas says that Hamiah don’t track birthdays. Everyone just becomes a year older when the mating season hits because that’s on a decent enough schedule for them.

When Cas finally closes the laptop with a little click and clears his throat, Dean is stretched out on his stomach on the couch while reading a book. He glances over and grins at the swarm of pink peonies all around his chair. Cas is a little red in the face and even though he _looks_ calm, his wings are twitching up a storm. It’s kinda nice knowing that just reading those things could ruffles his feathers – though it probably didn’t help that the documents didn’t exactly use the polite terms for anything. They were actually pretty vulgar, almost as if Dean had written them himself – straight and to the point. Which is why he liked them.

Dean schools his face so he’s not grinning like an idiot. “All done, Cas? What did you think?”

Cas clears his throat again and pushes the laptop away. “Those were – they were very thorough. I believe I’m – we should be well prepared now.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Cool. Have you decided when you want to do it?”

“Tomorrow.” The answer is a little quick and Dean’s grin slips slightly. Oh shit. What if the readings scared Cas off of it completely? He relaxes slightly when Cas keeps talking. “I won’t pick a specific time because I don’t want it to feel forced, but for today I would like to finish the mat and get started on packing.” He gets up and crosses the room to his weaving frame. “The less work I have to do on my last day with you, the better.”

“I like that plan.” Dean reaches out when Cas sits down and he automatically flares his wing so he can drag his fingers through the feathers. “Just to make sure, are you talking about a whole day of sex or –?”

Cas’s wing curves enough to flick Dean in the head with the longer feathers. Even ducking doesn’t save him from it. “I didn’t say that. I meant I would like the time to devote every part of you to memory.” He keeps talking like he’s not saying anything even remotely embarrassing while Dean can feel a blush start burning in his ears. “I want to learn you, all of you, in every way. Even if we don’t have the time for me to have you too, I want us take our time because I –”

“Okay! I get it.” Dean drops his face into the blanket bunched under his chin, trying to hide how hot his face feels. “You can stop now.”

“I’d rather not. You’re cute when you blush.”

Oh Christ, now he sounds _smug_. But he’s also angling his wing to stroke over Dean’s head and down his back in a gentle, tickling touch so maybe he can be forgiven for that. Especially since it makes Dean feel super warm and squishy instead from head to toe. He isn’t used to feeling like this. Feeling _loved_ feels really fucking good and it should scare him, but it really doesn’t. It just makes him feel amazing and he wants to crawl up behind Cas, wrap around him and _stay_.

Since there’s nothing stopping him from doing it, Dean moves to kneel behind Cas and wrap his arms around his waist, resting his cheek against the back of his neck. Cas doesn’t stop working on his mat, but he does drop his hand to rest over Dean’s wrists a few times. It’s nice and Dean really fucking hates that he’s going to lose all this after tomorrow. He’s a pretty damn physical person and even if he’ll be satisfied with just talking to Cas on the phone, there’s going to be a craving just to be close to him and he doesn’t know how long it’s going to be before he’ll get to satisfy that side of him again.

But it’s for Cas and he’ll suffer through it, dammit.

While Cas keeps working on his mat, Dean cleans up all the stuff he’ll be taking with him. Anything that he won’t need tomorrow and can stand to be left in the cold gets shoved into a spare bag. Hell, he even starts packing up Cas’s stuff. Cas points out what blankets and shit he’ll be taking with him and Dean rolls up anything they can spare.

After a few hours of weaving, they take Dean’s extra stuff to the car and let him run her for a few minutes. Cas makes a face at the exhaust, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Which is good, really. Dean’s not sure what he’d do if Cas insulted his baby.

They don’t have any snow fights today, but Dean does show Cas how he makes a snow angel. He’s really not surprised when Cas points out that it looks nothing like an angel. At least he isn’t insulted by it and it does nothing to stop him from wrapping Dean in his wings and kissing him stupid. Jeeze, what Dean wouldn’t give for Cas’s wings to fit comfortably in the car so they could just slide onto the backseat and – Okay, no. With how far they are from the house right now, it would be annoying to the power of a billion to have to walk back half hard before they’d be able to do anything to take care of it.

By the time supper is finished and cleaned up, Cas’s mat is all done. It’s all rolled up and with all his stuff, and the frame is taken apart too not long after that. Reading time is now synonymous with cuddling time and Dean’ll be damned before he ever calls it that. He enjoys the fuck out of it, but he will never call it that – _out loud_. Although he’s not really sure if Cas reads any of his book, since he’s making stupid little happy noises while Dean sorta combs his wings with his fingers while he reads.

The nervousness about tomorrow doesn’t really hit him again until they’re tucked into bed and Cas may or may not be asleep against his back, he can’t really tell. His breathing is steady and he hasn’t really moved at all since he said ‘goodnight’. Cas is the virgin here. Why the hell isn’t _he_ freaking out about tomorrow too? It’s going to be his first time and it’s not going to be some spur of the moment thing behind the bleachers in tenth grade with a girl he met a week before and he never saw again when his dad moved them a week later.

But really, what’s there to be nervous about? They’re not rushing into it and they care about each other _a lot_. Everything is going to be done slow and steady, and Dean has a fuck ton of faith in his ability to make this good for Cas – even if it’s going to be his first time having sex with a guy. He’s done a few girls in the ass before, but they always took care of themselves before and it’s not like they’ve got a prostate for it to be _super_ awesome for them. But he’s still worried as hell that he’s going to fuck this up some way and Cas isn’t going to like it or something.

Going to sleep when he’s nervous about something and not drunk is possible the hardest thing Dean’s ever done. But by the powers that be, he’s going to sleep tonight and tomorrow he is going to rock Cas’s world like he’s already blown Dean’s to smithereens.

x

Castiel slips from the nest as silently as he can, trying not to wake Dean. It’s midmorning and he would prefer letting Dean sleep than having him awake and watching what Castiel is about to do. Hopefully Dean will still be sleeping once he returns from relieving himself. That’s what the pages of information said he should do first to prepare himself. And since Dean has an aversion to the use of the bigger jars that Castiel has reserved especially for this, he is going to do it outside.

The cold wakes Castiel up nicely and he’s pleased to hear Dean’s breathing is still soft and steady in the nest when he sneaks back in. His hands shake slightly as he buttons down the cover for the entrance. He knows it’s from his own anticipation rather than the cold. Today is the day he gets to be closer to Dean than he’s ever been closer to him before and he wants that with a desperation that almost scares him. Castiel feels nervous, certainly, but more than that he just wants _Dean_.

It will be nice to finally experience sex and find out if it’s as big a deal as everyone at the clan always seems to make it out to be – though he doubts it will be. What Castiel wants from today is the intimacy. He wants a moment locked in time that is just them. No one else will ever be able to intrude upon them like this, a moment when they’re interlocked so closely he might not be able to tell where Dean ends and Castiel begins.

Thinking about it sets his wings shifting against his back and he hast to clamp down firmly on his powers to keep and flowers from growing around him. The scent they give might wake Dean. Even though they’ve bathed together a few times over the last several days, Castiel feels like this is a cleansing ritual that should be done in private. While the water heats, he wonders if Dean will take the time to clean himself first too. There has yet to be a moment where Castiel thinks Dean smells bad or is dirty, but it just makes sense that if the bottom has to clean himself to prepare for sex, then why shouldn’t the top have to do so as well?

He’ll have to bring the topic up with Dean when he comes down from the nest.

Castiel uses the soap root to wash his hair and clean himself from his head to his feet. Reaching back and between his legs with the damp cloth, flaring his wings to get them out of the way, is nothing new to him. He’s done it with basically every bath he’s ever taken, but knowing that he’s doing it now because Dean will be touching that part of him almost gives it a special feeling.

Every part of him feels like it’s shaking with a healthy mix of nerves and eagerness. He has firmly locked out any part of his mind that wants to focus on anything that could or might go wrong. Those are things he doesn’t need to think about. What they do today will hardly be any different to what they have done together over the last week. If he has to think about anything regarding later, he’d prefer to imagine what Dean might look like when he is actually _inside_ Castiel. That thought sends a pleasing, rippling tingle across his ribs and his wings flutter against his back.

Almond blossoms grow along the edge of the table and Castiel ignores the white flowers. If the faint scent is enough to wake Dean, that’s fine. He’s almost finished with his bath and will be done anything before Dean comes down. Maybe, if he has another pot of water heated for him, Dean will bathe right then. It doesn’t mean that they’ll have sex right after he’s done, but it _will_ mean that he is prepared for whenever it happens today.

It could be before they’ve eaten, it could be after, it might even be at the end of the day as they’re getting ready to sleep. Castiel doesn’t rightly care _when_ today it happens, as long as he gets to have that moment with Dean before they leave in the early morning tomorrow. Silvanus will likely be here with the sun and he’s not sure how comfortable he would be to have sex with Dean knowing that Silvanus would be able to hear them.

The only piece of clothing Castiel dresses in when he’s done is his qaa. After a few minutes of moving around quietly, he also pulls on the poncho. He keeps the water just off the side of the fire to keep it warm, but devotes the majority of the space to cooking some oatmeal.

Dean doesn’t come down until after Castiel has already finished eating. His hair is adorably ruffled and he looks slightly confused, blinking at him around and where he’s sitting on the othil. He yawns and ruffles his hands through his hair as he shuffles to his boots and jacket to the side of the entrance. “How long have you been up?”

“Less than two hours, more than one. Why are you pouting?” Castiel caught the jut of his bottom lip before Dean turned away to pull on his coat.

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He can hear it in Dean’s voice and it gets him to put aside the small box he had taken from Dean’s bag while waiting for him to wake up. “Did you have bad dreams?”

“No.” Dean stoops to pull his boots on and a queasy sensation fills Castiel’s stomach. Is Dean in a bad mood? What did Castiel do to upset him? It has to be something he did if Dean won’t even talk to him about it.

His wings fold tightly to his back and Castiel fists one hand in the poncho, lightly touching Dean’s shoulder with the other. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t like how small his voice sounds, or that it feels like it’s shaking around the edges, but he can’t help it. Today was supposed to be a special day and Dean is – maybe he just hasn’t fully woken up yet?

“Nothing’s wrong, Cas.” Dean reaches up and grabs his hand, pulling Castiel forward as he turns around to face him. He kisses him softly, sliding an arm underneath the poncho and around Castiel’s waist. “It’s fine, Cas. It was just weird waking up alone.”

Oh. Castiel folds his wings around Dean and murmurs apologies against his sleep-warm mouth. He explains between gentle kisses why he left the bed first and Dean’s smile grows between each one. It’s bright, and maybe slightly lewd, when Castiel steps away and gestures for Dean to continue preparing to go outside. Dean’s smile falls slightly and he glares at the entrance covering before unbuttoning it and stomping out.

Castiel returns to the othil and picks up the box again, sitting cross-legged. Before Dean woke up, he had been reading and rereading all the instructions on the back of the box. Dean had told him about these the other day, even showed him where they were in his bag. He calls them ‘condoms’ and explained what they’re for. Even though Castiel told him that his powers would heal him of any sickness and make him immune to diseases, Dean insisted that they use these until Castiel gets tested. To do so would require his blood and Castiel isn’t sure if he would be comfortable to let Dean take his blood to have Humans run tests on it.

Not that it matters. If Dean needs these condoms to have sex with him, Castiel will use them. He doesn’t know what it will feel like, but Dean promised him that they were safe – as long as Castiel doesn’t have some kind of allergy to latex. Castiel has no allergies, but he hasn't been exposed to all the different man-made things. Even in all the travels he had before his exile, he's not sure if he ever encountered this 'latex'. If he's allowed, he would like to open the box and take out one of the condoms to see it before they use any of them.

The back of the box is informative, certainly, but it's not the same as being able to learn with touch. And what is it supposed to feel like when put over the penis like Dean says it's supposed to? He would very much like to touch one just to see what it's like beforehand. As soon as Dean comes back, that's the first question out of his mouth.  

Dean laughs as he peels off his outdoor clothing. “Go ahead and open it if you want. They're all in separate packages anyways, so go ahead and tear one open. I got the normal ones and some weird organic water-based lube stuff.” He heads toward the fire to inspect the simmering pots. “What's in here?”

“Oatmeal to eat and water to bathe. I've already prepared myself for later.”

His head pops up and he turns around to look over his shoulder. “Wait, what?”

“I took a bath and I thought you might want one too.” Castiel explains as he picks at the edges of the box, trying to pull one up. It seems they're stuck down, but it doesn't take much to peel it up.

“You took a bath without me?” Dean sounds disappointed and Castiel looks up to give him a small smile.

“Consider it more of a cleansing ritual. I cleaned _everywhere_ for later, just as those instructional documents said I should.” He explains as he gets the box open and upends it on the floor in front of him, a folded coil of coloured packets falling out. “In my culture, cleansing rituals are often done alone. For future instances, you can join me. But this first one is special.”

Dean serves himself a bowl of oatmeal and sprinkles in generously with the cinnamon Castiel left out for him on the table. “Does that mean you’re not sticking around when I clean myself up?”

“I can go into the nest, the cave, or leave entirely if you would like.”

“What if I want you to stay? Would that be insulting your culture?” He brings the bowl over and sits next to Castiel, watching him unfold the string of packets. Each one has a circular disk inside. They’re crinkly and pliable and Dean reaches over to rip one off the line for him to use. “Because I definitely don’t want to do that. I just like having you around.”

Castiel smiles and folds his wing around Dean as he turns the little packet over in his hands. “My culture isn’t your culture, Dean. You don’t have to practice our ways just because I do. If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay.”

“You won’t be uncomfortable?”

“Of course not. I quite like seeing you naked.” He looks up with a small grin, enjoying the way Dean’s eyes go wide in surprise before a smile of his own spreads across his lips. As beautiful as Dean is, he never shines brighter than when he smiles and Castiel leans in to kiss it. How could such a small action be so addicting? He never thought anything of it when he never had them and now that he does, now that they’re available to him whenever he wants, Castiel can hardly seem to get enough of them.

Dean never answers him, but he doesn’t have to. He just leans into Castiel’s side while he eats his oatmeal and watches him figure out how to tear open the little packet. The round disk inside turns out to feel  a little like rubber, though it is very thin and Castiel things it might rip easily if he applies too much pressure to it. He remembers Dean saying that it _rolls_ on over the penis, which means that it is likely currently rolled up.  There is a little pit in the center and Castiel pinches it while he slowly unrolls the rest until it is a long, limp tube that is most _definitely_ smaller than he knows Dean is.

“How can this possibly fit on your penis?”

There’s a surprised snort next to him, followed by several choked coughs that actually make Castiel a little worried until they get interspersed between bouts of laughter. “It – Shit, Cas, it _stretches_. They can fit on things _a lot_ bigger than a dick.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs, his laughter and breathing slightly under control before he starts getting back to his meal. “I’ve seen people put them over their hands, their feet, make water balloons the size of your head. The list is pretty damn long.”

Castiel narrows his eyes at the flimsy thing flopped over his fingers. It barely looks like it could fit over Dean’s penis, let alone Castiel’s hand. When Dean stands up to go start his bath, Castiel is in the process of carefully pulling the rim of the condom over his fingers. He manages to get it halfway down his forearm before Dean starts laughing hard enough for Castiel to not only worry, but to also look up.

Dean is partway through his bath, perched on the edge of the table with one foot propped against a chair while he washes his leg with the soap root and a cloth. His laughter is bubbling and infectious and Castiel can’t help smiling back and spreading his fingers within the condom to wave at him. It only makes Dean laugh harder and he doubles over his raised knee while he tries to stop, or breathe.

His laughter is one of Castiel’s favourite things about Dean. It doesn’t happen as often as he would like, but it has a way of finding its way inside him and expanding. The sound of it fills every corner of him and Castiel’s wings spread in delight at their own accord, feathers fanning and fluffing up. It’s a sound that makes him wish he had some way to record it so he could listen to it when he starts to feel lonely back at the clan.

He will miss Dean a great deal after tomorrow morning.

The thought is a sobering one and Castiel can feel it like a stain on the good feelings Dean’s laughter gives him. He glances down at the condom and carefully unrolls it from his hand, leaving it stretched and useless. Dean comes over to take it from him, tossing it in the fire when he goes back to continue his bath. If he notices that Castiel’s good humour has suddenly soured slightly, he doesn’t comment on it, but he does start humming as he starts wiping down his other leg.

Dean doesn’t speak again until he’s wearing his pants again and sitting next to Castiel with his book. “Just to make sure, we’re not going to actually do it on a bed of roses, are we?”

“Why would we – Oh, the song.” Castiel looks up from his own book and shifts his wing over Dean’s back. “No, I wouldn’t want to. I don’t think it would be very comfortable.”

“Sounds good. Everyone says doing it on rose petals is romantic and all that crap. I just think it’s messy and I wouldn’t want to accidentally get any flower petals where there shouldn’t be any.”

They return to their reading after that and Castiel isn’t sure if Dean is waiting for him to say something, or if he should be the one to initiate sex. From his understanding, Dean is happy to do it whenever Castiel is comfortable with doing it. Right now, he feels comfortable sitting next to Dean but he doesn’t particularly feel the urge to touch more than they are right now. Perhaps this just isn’t the moment. Will Castiel be able to recognize the moment when it comes along, or will he miss his chance? If he misses it, will Dean figure it out for him or will he leave without them ever doing anything more?

Eventually those thoughts do fade away the longer they sit together on the othil. Dean’s presence can be very calming for him and Castiel finds his comfort in that, leaning against his side and breathing in the clean soap scent of him. They read together, though Castiel drifts in and out of focus from his book. He has his suspicions that Dean isn’t reading either – he hasn’t flipped the pages in longer than it takes him to read them.

When Dean closes his book and shuffles around the othil to lay on his back, his eyes closed as if he were sleeping, Castiel takes to running his fingers through his hair. His forehead creases every so often, as if he’s thinking and not liking the thoughts running through his mind – or whenever Castiel’s hand stops. Despite that, he is still very surprised when suddenly turns on his side to press his face into Castiel’s belly and wrap his arms around his waist.

“Is something wrong?” Perhaps Dean _was_ sleeping and he was just having bad dreams?

Dean shakes his head and squeezes him tighter for a few minutes before he sits up. Castiel puts his book aside and looks at Dean curiously, waiting for him to say something. Instead of speaking, Dean pulls at Castiel’s legs until they are no longer crossed and kneels between them. He lifts and spreads them, making room and shuffling forward until his knees are touching the back of the othil and he can wrap his arms comfortably around Castiel’s waist with his face pressed against his neck. Without thinking, Castiel folds Dean in his wings and his arms.

Even then, it still takes Dean a few more minutes to say anything and the words are horribly strained – as if saying them pains him. “I fucking hate being scared.”

Worry knots itself behind Castiel’s ribs. “What are you afraid of?”

“You’re going back to a _war_.” Dean hisses against his throat, fingers curling tightly in the poncho. “What if you don’t come back?” He doesn’t wait for Castiel to answer. “What if it takes so long for us to see each other again that you stop wanting me?”

Castiel presses his fingers into Dean’s back, pulling him closer and shifting his wings around him as tightly as he can. How long has he had these doubts and fears? Before he came for the visit? After he admitted his feelings?

“Fuck, Cas, what if you find an Angel who sees how fucking awesome you are and wants to be with you too? It would be so fucking easy for you to be with them instead of me.” His voice cracks and his shoulders shake with every broken breath. “I don’t want to lose you.”

He almost misses the trembling whisper, feeling it against his skin more than he hears it. Castiel’s chest feels tight and his stomach is lurching almost violently below his lungs, twisting into intricate knots. Despite that, he somehow feels lighter and his heart feels like it’s fluttering – a butterfly trapped in the cage of his ribs. How could he have missed these fears in Dean? How could he have possibly thought that he was the only one to have them?

Every day, even before they were like this, Castiel worried about whether or not Dean would find someone that would take him away. There are so many people that Dean sees daily when he isn’t here that the chances of someone catching his attention were astronomical. Those worries fill him even now. How does he know that Dean won’t get tired of waiting to see him again? He’s a very physical person. What if the craving for the touch of another drives him into the arms of someone else while he waits?

Castiel repeats his thoughts out loud for Dean to hear. Maybe, if Dean knows that he has the same worries, they will help ease them – as knowing that Dean shares his fears has already made Castiel feel better. He gently strokes his hand through Dean’s hair, turning his head enough to press a gentle kiss into his hair.

“That won’t happen, Dean.”

“How do you know that?” He mumbles against his collarbone. “How do you know you won’t find someone else and want to be with them?”

The answer is far too simple, and yet, it is the most complicated thing Castiel has ever said. “Because I love _you_ , Dean.” He tilts his head back and watches arbutus grow from the wall between two of the hanging mats and he smiles at it.

Dean’s breath ends in a sharp intake that Castiel can feel against his skin. There is no exhale and he waits, fingers stroking gently through Dean’s hair until he lifts his head and breathes out slowly. His eyes are wide and wet, thought no tears have been shed and Dean looks like he’s caught on the precipice of exhilarated disbelief. Castiel realizes then just how truly fragile Dean is and he wonders when was the last time someone told Dean that he is loved.

His hands come up to cup Castiel’s jaw, fingers sliding along the sides of his neck as he leans in to kiss him once. “Do you have any idea –” Twice. “– how happy you make me?” A third time, lasting longer than the last kisses. “I need you, Cas.” Each kiss pushes Castiel back harder into the othil, the joints of his wings just barely above the sloped back of it. “I don’t know how you do it.”

Castiel tilts his head, changing the angle of each new kiss. “I don’t do anything.”

“Bullshit.” Dean nips as his bottom lip as a punishment and Castiel’s wings twitch around them. “I – Fuck, Cas, I _need_ you. You make all the bad shit in my head go away.” He presses their foreheads together and breathes brokenly against his mouth. At least he can still do that, Castiel is fairly certain his heart has expanded to fill the spaces his lungs had been.

“You took all the broken pieces I’ve been carrying around and you put them back together again, Cas. I don’t know how you did it, but everything is _better_ here. It doesn’t hurt to breathe.” Dean shudders against him and kisses him again. “It’s just us out here and I’m not lonely. I don’t need to keep moving and doing and hunting the bastards who killed my mum. I can just _exist_ for once. Do you got any idea how much _freedom_ you’ve given me? Christ, Cas – you’ve got no idea how much I need you.”

Every kiss is lasting longer and something is building in Castiel, spreading through him in burning rivers as every kiss lights a new fire. Every time Dean says he needs him, it lights a new fire in his veins and Castiel’s fingertips must be leaving bruises on his shoulders for how hard he’s holding him. Every time he says those words, Castiel hears them for what they are – for the words Dean wasn’t able to say out loud and had to use the flowers to do it.

His wings part to give Dean the room to pull the poncho over Castiel’s head, surging forward to kiss him again the moment it is out of the way. He doesn’t care where it lands, far more interested in touching as much of Dean as he can to map his body with his fingertips. There are words still whispered between every kiss and each one emboss itself into Castiel’s mind as he guides Dean to lay on his stomach as he kneels over him.

He murmurs every tender sentiment and word he knows – in every language available to him – into Dean’s skin as he follows the line of his spine to the hem of his pants with his mouth, though he deviates from the path to pay worship to whatever catches his fancy.

Castiel likes Dean’s back. He likes the smooth skin and the rolling muscles underneath, broken only with scars from a hard life, each one telling a different tale.  He likes Dean's shoulders. They're not much wider than his own, but they carry so much and even if he’s seen them bow, they’ve never broken under the weight laying over them. He likes the sharp shoulder blades, wingless and so different from his own.

As he pulls Dean’s pants and undershorts down, he traces his legs with lips, tongue and teeth too. Castiel likes Dean's legs just as much as he likes his back. They're long and bowed and strong enough to throw Castiel off if he chooses to. Though it hasn’t quite happened yet, he’s sure Dean could despite the weight difference between them.

The more attention he pays to them, the more he likes to kiss the length of them. From Dean's hip to his ankle, he nibbles and sucks everywhere he can reach. Dean gets agitated and rolls over when Castiel tries to pay any attention to his feet. It doesn’t matter to him, he finds all of Dean attractive and every inch of him should glow with his soul – a beacon that draws Castiel to him like a moth to the flame.

There are no complaints when Castiel skips straight to Dean’s stomach on his way back up his body. He likes Dean's stomach. His waist isn't as slim as his own. It's thicker, more compact despite how Dean is taller than him. There's hard muscles under his skin, but there are still places where it's soft, where Dean's love for fried foods and pastries are more evident. It's not very noticeable, but Castiel spends quite a bit of time finding those spots around his belly button to pay special attention to them. It makes Dean squirm and he can only smile against his skin, knowing that Dean is a little self-conscious about his mid-section. He admitted it to him once on the phone on a day when Bobby told him he was going to get fat from all the pie he eats.

When Dean goes to push him away from that spot, Castiel takes his hands and kisses his palms. He likes Dean's hands too. They’re calloused, rough, and he hasn’t seen them stained with the oil from the car yet, but he remembers every instance where Dean has complained about it over the phone after a busy day working on his baby. Dean’s hands are strong and they always moves with a purpose - whether they're holding a weapon, or creating delicious meals. Castiel especially likes how Dean's touches are always gentle, even when he holds him tightly.

From his hands, Castiel follows Dean’s arms. They might be one of his most favourite parts of Dean. He likes when they come around him. Whether in their nest or not. He likes curling in them, scarred and strong and they make Castiel feel safe from the world. Every explanation, every emotion gets etched into Dean’s skin in Enochian, Latin, Russian, Cantonese, and languages long since lost to this world.

By the time he makes it to Dean’s mouth again, Dean has been laid bare. He’s vulnerable only to Castiel. He isn’t as open as he is when ecstasy fills him, but Castiel knows those moments already. This is a new one, and he to his memory. He memorizes the soft green eyes, warm and bright, and the slant of his mouth caught in a lopsided smile hovering between fondness and incredulity. He leans into the hands Dean brings to his face, drawing him down for a slow kiss that distracts him entirely when Dean unties the qaa and throw it away.

Despite all the parts of him that Castiel adores, they don’t hold a candle to the storm swirling tight in his chest just for this one man. Not the body that holds him, but _him_. If Dean looked like anyone else, Castiel knows without a doubt that he would love him anyway. He hopes, as Dean reaches back above his head to grope at the pockets of his bag, that in all their lifetimes to come he’ll be able to meet him time and time again.

Dean presses a cool bottle against Castiel’s shoulder in an unasked question. He doesn’t need to look to know and his heart starts beating harder, a staccato tempo thrumming against his ribs. The answer to it is a resounding ‘yes’ and Castiel doesn’t need to answer with words anymore than Dean needed to ask with them. He spreads his wings as he crawls a little higher up Dean’s body.

The first touch of slick fingers is cold and startling, punching a small gasp from him that Dean eagerly swallows. Between the first press of fingers and when Dean reaches for one of the condoms, Castiel stays locked on Dean’s eyes and the gentle, whispered words from his lips. Dean constantly checks to make sure he’s okay, breathing quiet praise whenever Castiel nods and pushes back against his fingers. The fuchsia petals of azaleas bloom around them, surrounding patches of red poppies.

At first the intrusion was uncomfortable, but as the reading material had informed him, it started feeling very good, very quickly. Dean is very good at gauging Castiel’s comfort without the questions – since Castiel never does answer them in the same way. It feels like forever, or maybe it’s just a second, before Dean is guiding him to sit back and his palms are like brands against his hips. The questions continue, falling on deaf ears now. His world has narrowed to the care he feels in those hands and in the forest of green looking up at him.

Castiel has never felt so inexplicably _full_ before as Dean carefully pushes into him. The only time he looks away from Dean’s face is to let his head fall back on a wordless sound, his fingertips brushing Dean’s stomach as he tries to steady himself. His wings shake and tremble against his back, spreading and folding and rustling louder than the ragged gasps that is their breathing. Dean’s teeth sink into his bottom lip and his eyes are wide, taking in everything that there is to see.

It quickly becomes obvious to Castiel, after he has adjusted to the feel of Dean actually _in_ him, that he is far more enthralled with the pleasure he can see flitting across Dean’s face than he is with his own. As Dean starts to guide him in how to rock his hips, lightning sparks along Castiel’s nerves and it feels so good but Castiel can’t look away from how Dean’s mouth falls open, how he holds on harder than he ever has before. When Dean glances up at him again and those too green eyes meet his, something clicks deep inside him – like the final link of a chain has finally closed.

He folds forward to taste each breath Dean takes. There’s too much happening for Castiel to keep track of it. Pleasure pulls tight throughout him, drawing from all his points and gathering low in his gut. It races along every feather, spreading from Dean’s touch to sink into his skin. Castiel revels in it, almost as if Dean is imprinting himself into every muscle and bone so he can carry him with him everywhere.

That thought is like the sword to the overstretched rope holding back the building pleasure in his gut and Castiel cries out when it unleashes a wave through him, shaking his very foundations until he’s gasping for air against Dean’s lips, feeling every soothing murmur he makes.

“I’ve got you, Cas.” Dean whispers, his fingers dragging from his hips to sift through his feathers as Castiel’s wings fold limply along his sides, one bunching on top of the back of the othil. “Just breathe.”

Castiel can feel the wet mess he made, sticky between their stomachs. Dean is asking him to move just one last time, asking him to sit up and move off of him so he can clean them up. He refuses. Dean is still inside him and he is still hard. He will not let this end without getting Dean having everything he just gave Castiel with whispered words and eyes that said more than those words ever could.

His limbs shake as hard as his heart beats and Castiel sits back again to rock his hips. The objections stop within seconds and Dean’s pleased groan makes Castiel’s softening erection twitch. He doesn’t stop moving until he sees those wide-eyes squeeze shut, his head tilting back and body going taut beneath him. Castiel isn’t expecting his name to spill in full from Dean’s lips and it strikes him hard in the chest to realize that this – that _Dean_ – is his. It is, perhaps, why he hates the moment Dean pulls out of him, pulling him down for a slow kiss that repeats all the words he said before.

There’s love in every slide of his lips and stroke of his hand. Caring lines the movement of the cloth that Dean gets to wipe them clean. Every motion is gentle and Castiel marvels at the tenderness such small actions can have in them and he gathers Dean to him the moment he’s able to, folding him tightly in his wings. It leaves Castiel feeling weightless, like he’s soaring on an updraft and it’s all because of Dean.

He never wants this feeling to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Peonies: bashfulness  
> \- Almond Blossoms: promise  
> \- Arbutus: you’re the only one I love  
> \- Azalea: take care, fragile, gratitude, passion  
> \- Red Poppies: pleasure


	35. Repeating History

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean groans when he wakes up, face scrunching up as he pulls the blanket and Castiel’s wing over his head. He turns into Castiel, curling against his chest and worming his arms around him. Dark words that curse the day get muttered against the strings of his necklace and Castiel smiles into Dean’s sleep-mussed hair. Yes, Dean will most certainly miss him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Well. That was different. It was different in one of those earth-shattering kind of ways, maybe. Dean’s not really sure how to explain it, but that was definitely not the same kind of sex he’s used to having. It wasn’t the position, or even that it was with a guy – it wasn’t _just_ sex. It was a hell of a lot more than that. Sex with Cas was close and personal and it was all the words Dean doesn’t even know. Words he can barely comprehend.

He’s never been with someone who was so utterly focused on watching him. Cas hadn’t looked away almost the whole time, staring down at Dean with hooded eyes and open mouth. Christ, he didn’t even look away when he’d been breathing hard against Dean’s lips. That damn well might have been the first time Dean’s ever actually locked eyes with someone like that during sex. It was new, and awesome, and he’s pretty sure he came a lot harder than he usually does.

Dean’s also pretty sure that Cas is one of those guys who gets off more on their partner’s pleasure than they do their own. That’s totally fine for him, really. He’s kind of the same and if all Cas needs for that is to stare at Dean while they’re going at it, then he’s cool with it. Hell, he’s as fine with it as he is with all this cuddling right now.

Cas is sitting with his back against the couch and Dean is leaning against his chest. His wings and arms folded tight around them both and it’s fucking awesome. It doesn’t bother Dean in the slightest that they’re both bare ass naked and Cas keeps rubbing his nose into the spot just under and behind his ear, hands spread warm and wide over Dean’s stomach.

This is basically all they’ve been doing since he finished wiping them both down. They kinda passed out for an hour or two on the couch and Dean woke up to Cas whispering Enochian in his ear. The only thing Dean got out of him about it was that it was some kind of prayer to Caosgi for protection and good luck. Dean thinks it might have been a wish that they’ll get to see each other again soon. It’s basically exactly the same thing Dean’s been saying to everyone he can name. So far he’s worked his way through most of the Nordic gods and now he’s making his way into the more mainstream religions.

Praying really isn’t his cup of tea, but he’ll do it if it means someone might answer and let him see Cas sooner rather than later. It was three months before this. How many more will it be before he gets to see Cas again? Six? Nine? A year? But what if he doesn’t give Cas’s clan the chance to choose for them? What if he just drives North and throws a fit in the woods until  someone comes to take him to Cas? That could work. Or it just might get him killed, or get Cas in a whole heap of trouble.

“Stop thinking about it.” Cas whispers against his neck, thumb stroking over Dean’s hip.

“I’m not thinking about anything.” He smiles, lifting his hands to the feathers all around him and he can actually feel Cas shiver the moment he touches them. His wings are still glossy in most places, but a few spots don’t feel as smooth. Before Cas can say anything, Dean twists to look over his shoulder at him. “You want me to groom your wings again before I go?”

Cas’s smile is still all soft and warm, just like it’s been since they woke up. Hell, it’s been like that for days now. It makes Dean’s heart do weird things in his chest whenever he sees it. Every time he catches it on Cas’s lips, Dean kind of wants to kiss that smile. Jesus, when the hell did he turn into such a _girl_ about these things?

“I would like that.” Cas murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss to Dean’s shoulder. “We can do it after supper. I’d rather not move right now.”

“Lazy bastard.” Dean grins, turning back around to focus on shifting his fingers through the feathers.

He’s been molting his mating plumage all week - not that Dean’s actually noticed it happening. It’s like something Cas does in private, or he manages to collect all the fallen feathers and get rid of them before Dean notices. That’s not really all that fair. Dean’s been waiting all week to get a hold of one of Cas’s feathers. Black or tinted with a mating colour, he doesn’t really care which, he just wants one to take with him and stick in the sun visor of the Impala, or if it’s one of the smaller ones, he might make something to hang from the rearview mirror.

Maybe if he’d stop thinking about it and actually opened his mouth to ask Cas about it, Cas would be willing to give him one instead of hiding them away wherever he puts them. Sweet Jesus, Dean really hopes Cas doesn’t throw them in the fire or just stuff them into some kind of bag to take back to the clan. Okay, yeah, that’s starting to really bother him. He _wants_ one, dammit.

“What do you do with all the feathers you molt?”

Cas hums and rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “The bigger ones I give to Balthazar and he trades them for me to artisans, claiming they’re dyed feathers. Otherwise, no one would want them because they think they’ll bring a curse on their homes. The smaller ones I share with the animals to use in making their nests.”

Dean turns slightly to reach further up Cas’s wings. “What if I said I wanted one?”

“I would ask if you remembered what I told you about my necklace.”

He stops playing with Cas’s feathers while he thinks about that. What did Cas tell him about the necklace again? There was something about the feathers he’s currently wearing belonging to his parents. But there was something else about another feather isn’t there? Fuck, right. During their marriage ceremonies, Hamiaah exchange a feather to add to their necklaces. Crap. Did he just propose to Cas?

“Um –” Very eloquent, Winchester. “I – Yeah, I remember. I meant – I just –”

Cas smiles against his neck and Dean swears silently to himself that if Cas said that just to fuck with him, he’ll tickle the bastard until he pees himself. “What would you use it for?”

“Decoration, I guess? I’d put it someplace in the car where I can see it while I’m driving. I dunno. I just thought it would be cool. ” He shrugs and shifts slightly. His butt is starting to get numb from how long they’ve been sitting here like this. “It would be kinda cool to have one of every colour you get during the mating season and then a normal black one. I could hang them all together from the mirror.”

The moment Cas’s wings pull apart, Dean realizes just how cold it actually is in the room. It’s not _freezing_ like it is outside, and by the usual standards it’s actually kinda warm. But Cas’s wings are pretty much the best blanket ever and Dean is literally naked. So, yeah. _Cold_. It gets worse when Cas stands up and leaves him sitting alone on the couch, cold and shivering and pouting at his back. Cas has zero shame with walking around in the buff and he crosses the room to the pile of stuff he’s taking tomorrow, crouching next to it and rifling through the bags until he comes up with a box Dean’s never noticed before. It’s kinda long and flat and tied shut with some rope.

He comes back to the couch and hands it to Dean as he slots in behind him again, curving his wings around them. Good. Dean wasn’t sure if he had the words or the courage to tell Cas he likes sitting this way. It’s nice to sit with him and just have all his heat and skin pressed up against him without either of them being in it for sex. Granted, if Cas wanted another go right now, Dean would be all for it. But he doesn’t feel the demand for it like he’s used to with anyone else he’s ever been with.

Cas reaches around him to pick at the knots keeping the box shut. He lifts the lid and Dean grins at all the feathers laid out in the box. The blues, purples and greens are all there, stacked on top of black ones of almost every size. Dean picks one of each, carefully selecting the perfect feathers until he can stack them one on top of the other, smallest to biggest.

When Cas takes the box back to his stuff, he goes into the cave too and comes back with a small box full of thread and a couple needles. The thread is rolled up into little balls, like yarn, instead of wrapped in spools like Dean’s seen before. He sits back and watches as Cas carefully puts the needle through the quill of each feather, stringing them together in a different pattern than Dean had them.

It’s more than a little fascinating to watch Cas’s hands work as he braids and knots the thread together, kind of making a hoop with them almost like his necklace. Cas leaves long strings at the end so Dean can tie it up around the rearview mirror on the car. Dean puts it aside when Cas gives it to him, catching his hands instead to kiss his fingers – kind of like what Cas did to him earlier.

“You’re awesome.” He murmurs, kissing his knuckles then turning his hand over to kiss his palms and the thin skin over the inside of his wrists. “Thanks, Cas.”

He’s blushing when Dean looks up, wings shifting and feathers spreading against his back like he’s all pleased with himself. Good. He should be. Dean really likes seeing Cas with all these smiles – big, small, half or full – and none of the frowns or neutral stares he was so used to having from him. This is a Cas who isn’t hiding anything from him. This is a Cas who’s actually _happy_.

“What are those?” Dean tilts his head to gesture at the stalks that grow in front of them, several small, white, bell-shaped flowers with flared ends hanging off each one.

“Lily of the Valley.” Cas answers softly, his blush spreading into his ears and he tugs his hand back to start packing up the needle and thread.

Dean’s not sure if he should be amused or not by the fact that Cas is still embarrassed of the flowers. He grins and reaches out to flick one of the little blossoms. “What does it mean? If you don’t tell me, remember that I can just search it up later and then I’ll tease you mercilessly about it over the phone.”

“I could just hang up on you.”

“You could, but you won’t.” He leans into Cas’s side and Cas immediately drops one wing around his shoulders. “Come on, what’s it mean?”

Cas ducks his head and shrugs. “Sweetness, happiness, and other things. Flowers have different meanings depending on what region you’re in.”

A happy Cas is a happy Dean and he drops a kiss to his shoulder. “Good.”

Dean stands and stretches, groaning as his spine pops pleasantly. “What do you want for supper? Nothing that’ll leave leftovers for tomorrow, huh? I think we still have some chicken. If you make up the noodles, we can have pasta and chicken.”

He doesn’t get any objections there and they spend the next hour making supper. Afterwards, Cas stretches out on his stomach on the couch and spreads one wing across the floor. At least they had both put on pants while they were cooking. If it wasn’t for that, Dean might have decided to have fun with oil-covered fingers and Cas’s ass. It’s a good thing that the repetition of working his fingers through Cas’s feathers and coating each one carefully helps get his mind off sex. He can’t let anything distract him until he’s done.

Not even the little red poppies distract him as he kneels and steps on them. The hardest thing to ignore are the little noises Cas makes. Little sighs and pleased groans that are almost exactly like the sounds Cas makes during sex. Dean knows this for a _fact_ now and each noise is raking down his spine in the best way possible. Which is, undoubtedly, the whole reason that as soon as he’s done both wings he pulls Cas up onto his knees and he kisses him.

Cas actually smiles into the kiss and he guides it, taking it from the rough and tumble mess that Dean starts it as and turning it into something slow and sweet. It banks the fires burning under Dean’s skin and it calms him just as quickly as the soothing stroke of fingers down his back. Okay, so maybe Cas isn’t actually up for a round two tonight. He might be too sore, or maybe his libido just isn’t as active as Dean’s is. Whatever it is, Dean’s surprisingly okay with that. He wouldn’t mind another go, but he can live without it if Cas would rather they didn’t.

Unless they wake up at a stupidly early time in the morning, they won’t have time for another roll in the hay before they have to go. With the long drive ahead of him, Dean really doesn’t think he’s willing to sacrifice sleep for sex. After leaving Cas’s place, he’s going to be heading East to visit with Bobby. There are a few jobs along the way that Dean can take care of and he’s got a surprise planned for Cas too, though Cas won’t know anything about it until they see each other again.

By the time they crawl into bed and tuck in for the night, Dean’s still thinking about all the plans he has for Bobby. If he’s lucky, he might be able to convince him to drop everything to do with Angel hunting completely. That would be awesome. No more giving information or supplies to hunters, no more enabling people to hunt down Hamiaah when they don’t deserve it. Dean doesn’t even care that there are some out there, like Uriel, who hate Humans. The Hamiamma are the ones attacking Humans and that’s who Bobby should be getting people to focus on.

So yeah, Dean’s New Year’s goal concerning Bobby is that. It would be pretty damn sweet if he could get Bobby to take all of his contacts that he has across the country and get them to help with monster hunting. That’s the kind of hunting Dean wants him to get behind. And with all of Bobby’s associates, things could probably get organized and figured out really damn fast.

Dean’s pretty sure that once upon a time Cas mentioned something about how Hamiaah clans have Human informants. What if Dean tried to be one of those for Cas’s clan? Would Raphael like him better if he had something to offer to them? Maybe he could bring Bobby in on it too. That makes for two informants for the clan. He might not have all of Bobby’s fancy associates, but where Bobby likes to stick to one place, Dean likes to travel and that’s got to be helpful in some sort of way, right?

Or maybe the most helpful thing he can do right now is find John. Find him and convince him that Angels aren’t bad and weren’t the ones who killed mom. Dean doesn’t have the first clue of how he’s going to do that. Just like he doesn’t have a damn idea about how to tell John that he’s in - he’s in - _Fuck._ He is most definitely in love with Cas.

Cas, who happens to be a dude. And a dude _Angel_ on top of that.

Yeah, that’s going to be a hell of a lot of fun to tell his dad.

x

This is the first morning Castiel wakes up next to Dean and hates it. He despises that this is the last he’ll get to do it and the future is too unfocused to know when he’ll get to do it again. Tonight his bed will be cold and empty and he doesn’t look forward to the ache he’ll feel in his heart. He watches Dean sleep for a few minutes and wonders if Dean will feel that same loneliness. A small part of him wishes that Dean won’t have to suffer with that feeling, and another part of him hopes that he will – because that would mean Dean will be missing him too.

Dean groans when he wakes up, face scrunching up as he pulls the blanket and Castiel’s wing over his head. He turns into Castiel, curling against his chest and worming his arms around him. Dark words that curse the day get muttered against the strings of his necklace and Castiel smiles into Dean’s sleep-mussed hair. Yes, Dean will most certainly miss him too.

He decides that they can afford to stay a while longer in bed. Most of their things are packed up and since Silvanus isn’t here yet, Castiel believes that it is still rather early. The latest they can stay in the nest is until he arrives. Most everything is already packed up. All they have left to do is take down the nest and pack what food they don’t eat for breakfast from what they left out last night.

Castiel runs his hand through Dean’s hair, humming soft songs as Dean presses his cold feet against his. Dean muffles a yawn chest before he lays a line of little kisses along his collarbone. It’s a nice feeling and Castiel tilts his head back to give him more room. Dean takes the gesture as permission to trail the kisses up his throat and under his jaw. He shifts up onto his elbow and moves his mouth to Castiel’s ear before sliding along his cheek to find his lips.

Yet another thing is added to the list of things Castiel hates about today. This is the last that he’ll have these early morning kisses. These aren’t like the ones Dean gave him a few days ago with the intention of arousing him. No, these are soft and sweet. They’re tender and they fill Castiel with a floating warmth that leaves him more breathless than the passionate ones do. These always last longer, each one sliding into the next until there is no differentiating between where one kiss ends and the other begins. If their hands wander, it’s to slide along backs or over hips in a gentle sweep. He especially likes running his fingers through Dean’s hair and letting his thumb drag over his cheek when he cups his face.

They don’t stop until Silvanus roars outside to announce his presence. This time it’s Castiel who curses when they pull apart and Dean’s amused smile is edged with sadness. He doesn’t want this to end any more than Castiel does. Knowing that Dean is as unhappy about this as him is a balm to the dark feelings staining his insides. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

Breakfast is quick – just fruit and the last of the bread Castiel baked earlier this week. They’re both going slower than they need to, dragging their feet as they move around. Dean is slow in accepting the blankets and mats that Castiel passes down from the nest. Neither of them bothers to keep the salman warm when it comes to taking things outside to tie to Silvanus. They put the fire out and tie the covers out of the way as they make multiple trips.

Silvanus nudges Castiel the moment he gets close. **I am sorry, Qaal.**

“For what?” He asks in Enochian, patting the thick, frosted vines of Silvanus’s neck in greeting.

 **That you have to leave. You are sad now and I do not like seeing you sad.** His tail sweeps tracks through the snow, nearly knocking over one of the snowmen he and Dean made before. **Will you be away long?**

“I don’t know. You can visit me at the clan when your patrol takes you to the northern mountains.” Castiel continues, accepting the roll of blankets Dean gives him. “It might be some time before I come home and I don’t know when I’ll see Dean again.”

 **Do you _need_ to see him again?** Silvanus turns his head to regard Castiel with one great glowing eye as he starts tying things to him.

Though Dean doesn’t understand the words, Silvanus’s teasing tones aren’t lost on him. He bumps shoulders with Castiel when he brings the next bundles to be tied up. “Is he making fun of me? If he’s making fun of me, I’m going to set his tail on fire. I have a lighter. I’ll do it.”

 **You can try, human.** He growls lightly, the bark of his face shifting and cracking with a grin.

“Cas, what did he say? You wanna fight, forest face? Bring it on.”

Castiel rolls his eyes and flares his wings as a barrier between the two. “Please try to get along.”

“It’s just friendly banter.” Dean mumbles, ducking his head as he hefts the roll of mats in his arms a little higher. “It’s how I make friends, remember? I figure now that I’m going to be around more often – when we’re able – I should at least _try_ and make nice with your kid.”

Silvanus still huffs and when Dean turns away, he flicks him with his tail. Castiel smacks him on the nose with a wing in retaliation and the annoyed grunt he gets matches Dean’s whining. The bickering between the two helps distract Castiel from the pending departure. He doesn’t want to see Dean drive away again, and he certainly doesn’t want to leave his home to go back to a place where he no longer feels like he belongs.

Once everything is tied tightly to Silvanus and nothing is left inside except for Dean’s bags, Castiel realizes there is no more putting this off. It’s with a heavy heart that he helps carry Dean’s things outside, shouldering one of the bags as he closes the covers to his home and hopes they’ll hold until he can come back again.

As soon as Castiel is done, Dean reaches for his hand and he holds it tightly the entire walk to his car, their fingers linked together. This is another thing Castiel adds to his list of things he will miss. Holding hands is a simple gesture, but it warms him from the inside out. He likes the way their hands fit together and Castiel finds himself looking down at them often, devoting the image to memory. Dean doesn’t say anything about it, but he does squeeze Castiel’s fingers tighter every time.

There is a light dusting of snow on top of the car when they get to the clearing. Silvanus followed them and he paws his way through the snow, stamping down what little bit has built up since he cleared it last so Dean will be able to leave. Dean starts the car first before he gets out a brush to clean the snow off. While he starts the car and sweeps the car clean, Castiel carefully loads the bags into the backseat.

He watches with curiosity when Dean stops him from putting the backpack away long enough for him to rescue the decoration made of his feathers. Dean grins at him through the fog of his breath and slides into the front seat to tie the strings around the mirror that hangs from the ceiling. It swings freely beneath them and Dean lets the feathers trail through his fingers before he gets out again.

“We’ll let her warm up a bit first.” He shuts the door and leans back against it, reaching to draw Castiel to him. “We’re not in _that_ much of a rush, are we?”

Castiel leans into Dean’s chest, tucking his cold nose against his throat. “We can stand to wait a few more minutes.” He takes a deep breath and tries not to wonder how long it will be before the blankets he’s taking back with him will stop smelling like Dean. “To be truthful, I would rather you don’t leave at all. If it wouldn’t upset my clan, I would bring you back with me now.”

Dean laughs and his chill hands find their way under Castiel’s mabza, settling between his wings to warm themselves against his skin. “Don’t tempt me. If you’re not careful, I might just follow anyways.” He rubs his cheek against Castiel’s temple. “Just break it to the head honcho and as soon as we get the clear, I’ll come up there and visit, okay?”

“I’ll tell Iaidon as soon as I return. Today even, if Silvanus and I get back in time. Tomorrow at the latest.” He squeezes his arms around Dean’s waist, not wanting to let go. There’s a small, irrational fear creeping along the edges of his mind. It keeps trying to convince him that all of this is some fever dream from the mating season and he’ll wake up alone in his nest, or worse yet – he’ll wake up alone at the clan to find that none of this ever happened.

“He won’t hurt you or anything, will he?” Dean asks softly and Castiel can feel his lips moving against his temple. “How mad are they going to be that you and me are like this now?”

He shrugs and lifts his head to rest his chin on Dean’s shoulder, staring out over the black roof of the car. “There are a few others in my clan who have pledged themselves to Humans. I won’t be the first in that regard. But Raphael always meets the mate before the relationship can be pursued. He needs to make sure that the Human won’t be a threat to our way of life.”

“Guess that means I’ll be getting a passport soon.” He turns his head to kiss Castiel’s cheek. “Call me if he wants to meet me. I’ll drop everything and drive up there. Y’just gotta promise me that no one is going to hurt you.”

 **There is no need to worry.** Silvanus growls, tossing his head and pawing angrily at the ground. **I would never let anything happen to Qaal because of a Human lover _again_.**

That piques Castiel’s interest and he glances over his shoulder at Silvanus. He knows he can’t possibly be talking about him. Dean is his first and only lover, Human or not. The only other Qaal that Castiel knows Silvanus had was his first creator centuries upon centuries ago and he is well aware that Silvanus believes Castiel is his reincarnation. But he knows so little about the first Qaal – Castiel doesn’t even know what he looked like or how he died. All he knows is that his death was caused by Humans. Any time he tries asking about it, Silvanus refuses to say anything and often times he’s ran away, disappearing into the forest before Castiel has the chance to follow.

“Silvanus says he won’t let anything happen to me.” He looks back at Dean, smiling at the worried frown. “And I would like to remind you both that I am a capable warrior.”

“I know.” Dean tilts his head forward until their foreheads bump together. “I just don’t want anything happening to you because of me. It would suck. _A lot_.”

Castiel raises his chin to catch Dean’s lips in a sure kiss. “You worry about yourself. You can’t afford distractions while you’re hunting creatures far less merciful than a Hamiaah. I’ll be fine and you had better be okay too.”

Dean hums his answer, lifting one hand to cup Castiel’s jaw as he kisses him again. He draws Dean away from the side of the car, taking enough steps back that he can wrap him in his wings. They kiss their goodbyes slowly, dragging each moment on for as long as they can. Silvanus grants them a few minutes before he huffs loudly and paws the ground again. Dean gives him a dirty look when he steps away and Castiel doesn’t let him go easily, his wings dragging over his shoulders and arms before he folds them to his back again.

He can’t stand the look Dean gives him – a smile that is nothing more than a poor attempt to cover his sadness. It makes Castiel’s insides feel as frozen as the snow beneath his feet and he turns from it. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”

Silvanus lopes along behind him as Castiel runs down the twisting road to the curved tree. Dean’s car rumbles behind them both and Castiel isn’t relieved that it is driving easily on the snow and ice – a nervousness Dean had expressed before. If the car hadn’t been able to drive, Castiel could have kept him here for longer. Dean might even have come back to the clan with him – although that would likely not have gone well for anyone involved.

Castiel moves the tree under protest, hating every ounce of his power he pours into it to guide the gate to rise out of the way for Dean to pass under it. He despises moving it back into place. It feels like he’s shutting Dean out and that’s the last thing he would ever do – especially now. A trail of bellflowers follows him to the side of the car, the purple blossoms poking their way through the snow.

Dean gets out for their final goodbye and Castiel barely waits for him to shut the door before he’s pushing Dean up against it, kissing him with more desperation than he should. For as hard as Castiel is kissing him and pressing him up against the side of the car, Dean is holding on just as tightly, giving as good as he is getting. His fingers curl almost too tightly in Castiel’s hair, arms tight around his shoulders. They don’t need to say with words what they’re saying with their bodies – _I’ll miss you_.

It takes another pointed growl from Silvanus to break them apart again.

A heavy sigh ghosts over Castiel’s lips and Dean’s hands are heavy against the sides of his neck. “As soon as you find out the next time we can see each other, call me. I don’t care who’s around, just do it.”

“I will.” Castiel promises, touching the pouch tied to his hip under the mabza where he keeps the phone. Depending on the answer, he might make the call right in front of Raphael.

As Dean drives away, Castiel forces himself to stay standing on the road until he’s out of sight. Even with Silvanus waiting on the other side of the gate, he feels inexplicably alone. The war is important and they both have their own things they need to do, but that doesn’t mean Castiel actually likes being separated from Dean like this – not knowing when they’ll meet again. All his knows is that it _will_ happen. The _when_ is an itch under his feathers, making his wings twitch uncomfortably as he climbs up onto Silvanus’s back and settles into a space between his belongings.

Really, it’s ridiculous that he needs _permission_ to see Dean again. Castiel almost wishes that he never had his status restored. If he was still an exile, Dean could come and visit whenever he wanted. There would be nothing more than their own self-imposed time limits and those would be so much easier to accept than this – this – this lack of _freedom_.

An hour into their journey toward the clan, Castiel leans forward over Silvanus’s back to gently touch the spires of bark and leaves that rise from the top of his head. “Distract me from my thoughts.” He asks. “Please tell me about your first Qaal. How did a Human lover cause his death?”

The question breaks Silvanus’s stride and he slows his brisk pace to a walk. He glances over his shoulder at Castiel, his glowing eyes narrowed. It is perhaps a little underhanded of Castiel to ask him this while he’s on his back, leaving Silvanus with no way to run from the question. But it is a long ride to the clan and he has many things he doesn’t want to dwell on during that time.

“We’ve known each other over forty years now.” Castiel reminds him. “I have no secrets from you. Why would you keep this a secret from me?”

 **I do not like seeing the past repeat itself.** Silvanus shakes his head, picking his way carefully through the trees. **First Qaal took a Human mate and he treasured her just as he did the forest. She was much like your Human – Strong and fragile, as all Humans are.**

A sinking feeling fills Castiel’s stomach and he curves his wings over his shoulders, regretting the question he has to ask. “What happened to her?”

 **She lived and died, as all things do.** His head hangs low and Castiel wishes he hadn’t brought the topic up again. **I was fond of her. She was very nice to Qaal and I. We played many games together. When she agreed to pledge herself to First Qaal, the clan came together and I lent what powers I could to them to extend her life so she might live a happy one with Qaal. It was what she wanted, but not what her _family_ wanted for her.**

“You don’t have to tell me any more if it’s too painful for you.” He whispers, gently stroking Silvanus’s back. Pain is echoing through their bond and Castiel hates that he was the one who put it there.

 **It is fine, Qaal. I have kept this from you for too long.** Silvanus crests a high hill, turning to look back at the forest. If Castiel looks hard enough, he could probably see the clearing where the salman is.

 **First Qaal was like your parents. He watched the clan boundaries and he created me to watch over the whole forest – to see the parts of it where his eyes could not reach.** He crouches in the snow and Castiel slides from his back to lean against him, absently stroking the vines of his neck. **You are much like him. Not in form, but in spirit. When you were struggling with the loneliness of your exile, the forest called you to my resting place so you might renew me. I knew it from the first moment I saw you that First Qaal lives on within you.**

“And his lover?”

 **The forest and I believe she lives in your Human.** Silvanus lowers his head to rest his chin on his paws, watching Castiel from the corner of his eye. **He smells like she did and they are very similar in many aspects. She was often brazen with me too.**

Despite the topic, Castiel can’t feel anything but happiness at hearing that. He had thought about the cycle of rebirth earlier and whether he would have ever met Dean before or if he would ever meet him in another life still yet to come. This is all the hope he needs to know that even if something happens in this lifetime – a battle gone wrong for him, or a hunt ending poorly for Dean – at least he’ll have the comfort of knowing that they will meet again.

“If you liked her, how come you don’t like Dean?”

 **History is repeating itself and I do not like it. I don’t wish for First Qaal’s fate to be yours.** His tail curls forward, the thin whip of vines and leaves wrapping around Castiel’s legs. **His mate’s family came in the night when I was too far to help them in time. Qaal would not hurt them, but he did fight them with hand and fist. There were too many and they took her, wounding Qaal before they left. He was hurt in ways that were too much for him to heal and he did not survive. Before his odlonshin could leave me, I hunted those who had killed him hoping to save the one he held most dear.**

“And did you?” Castiel looks down at the bunches of small, white elderflowers grow in thick swatches around them where they can find their way out of the snow and he does nothing to hide his sorrow from their bond.

He shakes his head and sighs softly. **She died with Qaal.** **To extend her life the clan had to bind their lives together. When Qaal fell to his wounds, so did she. I took their bodies to the clan to be returned to Caosgi, and then I found a place to sleep.**

“Thank you.” Castiel whispers, stepping around him to hug the side of Silvanus’s head. “I didn’t know what to expect with learning a part of your history, but I’m glad you shared it with me.”

 **As am I. Perhaps knowing the mistakes of the past will help you to avoid making them again.** The huff against his leg is followed with a brush of his tail against Castiel’s wings. **That is to say, please do not pledge yourself to this Human.**

“Are you saying that because you’re worried Dean’s family will try and kill me for it because they are hunters, or because you don’t like Dean?” Castiel’s attempt at a joke falls flat when Silvanus doesn’t answer. He sighs and lifts himself back into the place between the bundles on Silvanus’s back. “I don’t know if Dean and I will ever have the commah ceremony between us. We haven’t even spoken about the difference in our life spans yet and I don’t particularly want to breach that topic until we’re certain that our relationship is one that will last. There’s no point in discussing it now.”

He doesn’t like thinking about it, but Castiel knows that having so much distance between him and Dean will be a strain to their relationship. It is entirely possible that it will only hurt them both and Dean might ask that they be just friends again so as not to hurt each other. If that is to be the case, Castiel would take it. He wants Dean in his life, as a friend or as this fragile new stage they’ve reached between them.

**I do not want to see you hurt or sad, Qaal.**

“We will try.” Castiel smiles at the red leaves as they shake when Silvanus gets to his feet again. “The future holds too much for us to know for certain. But we will try. Come, let’s return to the clan before night falls.” He pats the curve of Silvanus’s back before him, glancing out at the stretch for the forest below them as Silvanus shakes himself out.

Down there is his salman. Already Castiel feels the ache in his chest – the longing to return to the last several days there with Dean. When Silvanus turns away and Castiel puts his back to his home, he leaves it not knowing that it will be well over a year before he’ll see it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Lily of the Valley: sweetness, happiness  
> \- Red Poppies: pleasure  
> \- Bellflower: disappointment, loss  
> \- Elderflower: compassion


	36. Messages and Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He asked about you.”
> 
> Dean flinches and looks back. “What did you tell him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

There’s something about the open road, even in the dead of winter, that really helps Dean relax. For the first hour, while he was passing through and gassing up in the town not far from Cas’s place, he was itching and unhappy. That had everything to do with leaving Cas when pretty much every part of him wanted to do the exact opposite.

It got easier the farther he went, but there’s still this aching little pit in his chest that practically screams with loneliness. No matter how used to driving alone on the open read that he is, it doesn’t compare to that companionable silence or conversations that he has with Cas. Even hanging out with Sam and Jess, or with Bobby, doesn’t give him that overwhelming sense of _calm_ he gets at Cas’s place.

Christ, it’s barely been a few hours and Dean really fucking misses him. He hates that all week Cas has been nothing but smiles and peace, and the last thing Dean saw on his face was heartache and sadness. Those are things that absolutely _do not_ belong anywhere even remotely associated to Cas. At least Cas isn’t going to be completely alone. He’s got Silvanus with him, and he’s going back to the clan which maybe isn’t all that bad but far as Dean knows, Cas doesn’t actually enjoy it there.

By hour five, Dean’s brain shuts off. He goes into some kind of road trance where he doesn’t think, barely moves. Cruise control takes over and he just _exists_. It’s one of the best things he loves about driving. Sure he’ll go over all his worries and guilt and everything else in his head, but his brain can only think about all that for so long before it gives in to the steady rumble of the tires on the asphalt and the rolling, changing landscape.

At least it means he doesn’t have to think about the war Cas is going to be fighting in, or that his clan leader might be a colossal douche nugget and refuse to let Cas leave the clan long enough to see him. Hell, he might even say Dean isn’t allowed anywhere near the clan. Which means it might be December again before Dean sees him again and he is, undoubtedly, going to go out of his mind if he has to wait that long. But he’ll be damned if he lets Cas go – he just has to hope no one at the clan manages to catch Cas’s attention.

It takes him most of the day to get to Sioux Falls and by then Dean’s road bliss has all but run dry. He’s getting the itch to stretch his legs for longer than it takes to gas up and take a piss. Which is maybe only half the reason why he pulls over on Main Street in front of the tattoo parlour. Shit, it feels good to just stand and pop his spine in a few places.

He shakes out his legs and heads into the shop with an hour before closing. The girl behind the counter looks bored, clicking away at her computer. She’s got a few piercings and at least four tattoos that he can see – all of them different flowers that he sort of recognizes.

She looks up when he walks in and smiles brightly, standing to shake his hand over the counter when he steps up. “Hi, I’m Mandy. What can I do for ya?”

“Hey, hi. Uh, I need a quote and an appointment on getting a tattoo covered over.”

“Do you know what you’d like to cover it with? Where is it located?” She grabs a clipboard from a rack of them on the corner of her desk and checks off a few things on it.

He grins and raises an eyebrow when she looks up at him again. “Can I show you or am I not allowed to whip my shirt off in the lobby?”

“Whip away, my good sir.” Mandy winks back and gestures at him to go ahead. “What name should I slap down on this?”

“Dean Winchester.” He sheds his jacket and grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head. Might as well just take the whole thing off instead of having to hold it up for a while. Both her eyebrows almost make it to her hairline when she looks up again and sees the star Cas painted on his chest. Dean traces the points. “Actually, this is the design I want. This is just henna ink, about a week old, and the real tattoo is underneath.”

“Well that makes this a whole lot easier then.” She turns the clipboard around to face him on the counter. “Just fill out the rest of this and we’ll book you a date. If I can get you back here in a week, we should still have the outline of the henna to work with. Do you have a picture of it I could use as reference? Just in case I have to do it the usual way.”

Mandy passes him the pen and Dean starts ticking off all the little boxes and filling out in all the little fields on the form. “I do, but it’s on my phone. Are you going to be the tattoo artist?”

“It’s the perk of being the only one here when you book it.” She grins and gets a digital camera out of a drawer. “Unless you want someone else, that is. Did you come here with one of the others in mind?”

“Nah, you’ll do just fine.” He hands the form back and spread his arms, tilting his head back for her to snap the picture. As soon as she’s done, he starts getting dressed again. “What dates do you have and how much of a deposit do you need?”

She quotes him a price and Dean hands over the only credit card he has on him. Funny enough, this one is actually legit. He pays it off and everything. Of course, if most of the money he pays it with happens to be money that he ‘earns’ off of unsuspecting idiots at pool and poker – well, what does it matter?

It’s been half a year since he opened an honest to God bank account and started saving properly. Anything he earns doing jobs for Bobby goes straight into it, same as everything he wins at the bars. He’s not exactly sure _how_ or _when_ , but somewhere after meeting Cas he’s becoming a proper grown up. Now all he needs is a steady address and he might actually be considered a _citizen_. John had been adamant that Dean not have a real job. It would just get in the way of hunting and since they needed money for food, supplies, gas and all the other fun shit that comes with living at least moderately comfortably, they scammed bar goers and credit card companies like it was going out of style.

Dean knew the ins and outs of poker before he learned cursive writing. He hadn’t even gotten anywhere near long division before he was an ace at pool. That shit was all angles and Dean picked it up faster than anyone expected. John always did manage to find the bars that didn’t give a shit if there was a kid there as long as they weren’t drinking. Which didn’t stop Dean from having his first beer long before he had his first kiss.

He managed to keep Sammy safe from all that. Give the kid a book, a walkman and a set of headphones to drown out the noise and he was golden. Half the time he was doing homework anyways, and Dean was damn proud of him for it. That’s why Sam got the good grades and Dean made sure they had enough money to keep him properly fed, clothed, and supplied for school.

Mandy sees him out the door and Dean gives her a jaunty wave and the promise to be back in a week. They’ve tentatively booked it for six days starting tomorrow. If Cas’s henna ink is still too dark, she’ll rebook him. Otherwise, they’ll do it then. It’s going to be one hell of a surprise for when he meets Cas next and by the time Dean gets into the car again, there’s a tight bubble of anticipation bouncing away in his gut again.

Before he starts the car, he gets out his phone and gives Bobby a call. It picks up on the second ring and Dean starts talking before Bobby can get a word in edgewise. “Hey, I’m in town. You want me to pick anything up before I come over? Beer? Food? Porn?”

Bobby barks a short laugh. “Get whatever the hell you want, boy. I ain’t feeding you.”

“Food and beer it is.”

“What, you’re not gonna get yourself something nice?”

“Don’t need it.” Dean grins and turns the key. “At least not yet. Depends how long it’s going to be before I see Cas again. In any case, I got enough skin mags in the trunk to satisfy me if I need it.”

Not that he and Cas have ever even slightly talked about porn. Maybe that’s something he’s going to have to bring up the next time Cas calls – if they ever get the chance. Cas might end up being one of those people who doesn’t like it when their partner looks at porn. That’s maybe something they’re going to have to figure out eventually.

A groan vibrates through the phone. “Your daddy’s head is going to _explode_ when he finds out.”

“Don’t get my hopes up.” He slants a smile at himself in the rearview mirror and reaches out to run the feathers hanging from it through his fingers. “If that happened, we wouldn’t have to worry about him shooting me or hunting Cas.”

Bobby snorts a laugh. “Just get here quick. I’m hungry.”

“I’ll pick up a pizza.”

“No, you’re gonna make it. Don’t know what you do to it, boy, but that bought shit doesn’t taste half as good.” There’s a fondness to the gruff tones and it makes Dean grin. “Now get. I’ve got meat and cheese. Just get the shit you need for dough.”

“And sauce.” Dean reminds him. Bobby just huffs and hangs up.

It takes him all of half an hour to buy everything he needs. He’s got no idea how long he’s going to be staying at Bobby’s this time, but it wouldn’t hurt to stock the guy’s cupboards while he’s here. Feeding Bobby and helping out with the shop is one of the better ways he can at least slightly pay him back for giving him a roof over his head. Bobby could just as easily kick his ass to the curb and make him sleep at one of the motels in town. Not that Bobby ever would. But he _could_. Which is why Dean likes to stay on his good side.

Of course that doesn’t mean he’s not going to badger Bobby like crazy to give up Angel hunting. Dean figures Bobby’s about halfway there. He’s already stopped hunting Angels himself, but he’s still giving help to other hunters and that needs to stop. If he could get Bobby to shut down the hunter network, or better yet reroute it into the supernatural hunters, that would be even better. No one knows how to get their hands on information better than Bobby. He’s got contacts all over the country that he’s used to track Angel sightings or phenomenon. It can’t be that hard to get all that working for all things spooky – could it? Granted, all his contacts are kind of hell bent on killing Angels too, so maybe that might not work out so well.

Bobby is ready and waiting to help with the bags when Dean pulls up. Not even a half hour, there are two pizzas in the oven and Dean’s putting away the rest of the groceries while trying to find a way to broach the subject about giving up Angel hunting. Turns out, that ends up being all kinds of unnecessary.

“Guess who I heard from a few days ago.” He takes the beer Dean offers and kicks back at the table, eyes on the stove and the pizzas inside.

“The Easter Bunny?” Dean answers on automatic, trying to Tetris a half dozen boxes of mac and cheese into one of the cupboards.

A bottle cap bounces off the back of his head and he barely reacts to it, shoving aside about fifteen different boxes of crackers. Seriously, what does one man need so many crackers for? His answer is in the next cupboard over. Clearly Bobby is some kind of survivalist. There’s enough soup in that cupboard to have fed Sammy for a year when they were kids.

“Your _dad_ , numb nuts.” Bobby grunts and that snaps Dean back from thinking about all the times he’s made spaghettios on a hot plate.

He damn near drops the (completely unnecessary) can of chicken soup in his hand and whips around to face him. “He _called_? Is he alright? Where the hell is he?”

“He’s fine and down south, far as I can tell. Heard cantina music in the background so I think he’s past the border.” He shrugs and squints at the label of his beer bottle like it offended him. It’s the same damn brand he always drinks and he shrugs again, knocking back another mouthful. “No point in trying to follow his ass if he’s halfway to Peru now.”

“ _Bobby_.” Dean stresses, plunking himself down in the chair opposite him. “What did he _say_?”

“Nothing good.” He peers back at Dean from under the lip of his ball cap. “Said he was tracking a small group of Angels that were making their way down South. They ain’t doing much, but he’s got their trail and he’s not giving it up.”

Fuck. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth and looks away to stare at the wall. They’re probably a raiding party sent out to look for demons and shit. If they’re heading south, then they’re probably a part of the clan down there and if they’re not careful, they might just lead his dad right back to it. John’s a hell of a tracker. Dean should know. Everything he knows he learned from his dad and Dean’s not half bad himself. Not to mention there’s every chance that John never taught him everything that _he_ knows.

“He asked about you.”

Dean flinches and looks back. “What did you tell him?”

Bobby taps his fingers against the neck of the bottle. “He wanted to know if your job went okay. Asked how long it took you to take down your target.”

A harsh laugh bubbles in his throat and Dean leans back in his chair, shoving his hand through his hair. “It took him eight months to finally ask that? Jesus Christ. And what did you say?”

“I told him if he wants to know, he should man up and call you. And he told him your old satellite phone broke. Gave him your new number so he won’t accidentally call your Angel.” He pauses to take another swig of his beer and stands to go throw the empty bottle in the bin. “Guess he took that to mean you’re alive. Sure as hell didn’t ask any more questions about you or Sam.”

“Of course he didn’t.” Dean bites out, twitching when the alarm on the stove goes off.

Now-a-days it’s getting harder and harder to remember just why he used to idolize his dad so much. Sam and Jess sure didn’t help with their campaign to open his eyes to the way John treats him. And then Cas went and threw the door open about the whole thing with Angels and Dean realized just how _wrong_ his dad has been. There’s been a whole lot of realizations in his life over the last several months and all of them have been for the better. Dean just hopes he’ll be able to get his dad to see the truth too.

“Did dad say anything else?” He asks, pulling the pizzas out and leaving them to cool on top of the stove.

“We might’ve exchanged a few words.” Bobby mumbles, taking two more beers out of the fridge and tossing one to Dean. “Not exactly very nice ones.”

Dean winces, popping the cap using the counter’s edge. Thank whatever deity is smiling down on him that he managed to miss that shouting match. It would _not_ have been pretty. “About what?”

“Your dad don’t exactly like it when people tell him ‘no’.”

Understatement. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“I told him I was getting out of the business.”

Yup. That’s something Dean doesn’t know. He stops cutting the pizzas long enough to look over his shoulder at him. “You are?”

“Hunting? Nah.” Bobby leans back in his chair again, looking expectantly at Dean until he gets back to cutting the food. “But only the scary shit now. I should probably thank you for giving me the excuse I needed to stop hunting Angels.”

“What excuse is that?”

He snorts and accepts the plate Dean passes him. “What with all the bigger fish to fry out there, I can’t in good conscience keep helping hunters find and kill your in-laws now, can I?”

Dean can feel the blush in his ears and he ducks his head to take a big bite out of his slice. Bobby laughs and they manage to switch the conversation to how things went with Cas. He avoids the finer details for all their sakes, but Bobby seems happy enough just hearing how happy they both are. At least until Dean gets to the part about how they don’t know when they’ll get to see each other next because of the war and everything.

That makes Bobby frown and he swallows down the last bite after they’ve polished off a whole pizza between them. The second is for leftovers in a few hours – since they both have hollow-leg syndrome when it comes to good food. “That reminds me – John left you his new number.  I put it on the fridge. He never said that you should call him, but he left it anyways since he went and got himself some new phone while he’s down south.”

“Great.” Dean glances over his shoulder at all the sticky-notes stuck to the face of the fridge. One of them is John’s number. “Shit, do you think I should tell him about me and Cas over the phone?” That feels like the coward’s way out and John might just yell at him for a bit about being a chicken shit before he hunts his ass down and kills him.

Bobby shrugs and shakes his head. “Up to you, boy. Just do it with witnesses. He won’t make a scene in public. I’d treat him to a nice steak dinner, if I was you.”

“Wait until he’s too full to chase me?”

“He’s not going to kill you, Dean.” He sighs and gives him a straight look, hard edged and frank. “John Winchester is a lot of things, but he’s still your dad and he still cares about you. The worst he’s likely to do is disown you.”

“And try to hunt Cas.” Which is Dean’s main concern. John can do, or try to do, whatever he wants to him, but if he even _mentions_ going after Cas – God, he doesn’t know what he’ll do but it sure as hell won’t be pretty.

It takes Dean most of the night to get up the courage to even pick up the phone. He spends half the time pacing and planning what he’s going to say, trying to construct a conversation in his head with what he thinks John would respond with. So far, nothing sounds good. As he’s dialing the number, Dean debates between telling him straight up over the phone what’s going on, or just saying he’s got something really important that they need to talk about and that he wants to meet up.

Either way, this just is not going to go well.

When the call rings out and goes to voicemail, Dean’s knees nearly give in relief. He sinks into the nearest chair and sighs, listening to the instructions to leave a message after the beep. The tone goes off in his ear and he clears his throat, sitting up straighter out of reflex.

“Hey dad, it’s Dean. Bobby just gave me your message. I’m fine, but – listen – there’s something I need to tell you. It’s really important and we need to talk about it. In person.” He fists his free hand against his thigh to keep from fidgeting. “Please call me back at –” The number rattles off his tongue and Dean turns the phone off the moment he’s done. His hands aren’t shaking, but he feels like they should with the burst of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Instead of putting the phone away, Dean dials up a familiar number. Thank the powers that be for time differences because it’s still a totally acceptable hour in California. Sam answers the phone before the first ring is even done.

“Did the flowers work? Tell us all about it.”

“Jesus, Sam. Please tell me you haven’t been waiting by the phone for over a week.”

Jess laughs in the background. “He’s kept it within reach, if that’s what you mean. Enough small talk. I’m guessing since you haven’t called us for a week it’s because you were too busy making out. Am I right or am I right?”

Dean gets up and slouches off to his bedroom for the rest of the call. Bobby’s going to be going to bed soon and after this call, he’s going to crash too. “We didn’t suck face the _whole_ time.”

There’s a slapping sound that may or may not be a high-five. Judging by their whoops, it probably is. They sound more happy about it than Dean was. He still has a stupid little smile as he rolls his eyes and kicks off his shoes. Dean’s pretty sure they’re doing some sort of victory dance because it takes them a good couple minutes to actually start asking questions again. In that time frame, Dean manages to change out of his clothes and get tucked into bed.

He tells them how he gave Cas the flower seeds and how Cas reacted. The only parts Sam has him skim is when hands started to wander. Dean recounts almost everything that he and Cas talked about and he has to listen through Jess complain that he didn’t talk about the _important_ things. Frankly, everything seems important where Cas is concerned but Dean’s brain has the tendency to go offline whenever Cas is around. It’s kind of a double edged blade there, but he figures if it’s _really_ important, it’s going to come up eventually. They’re going to do this on their own time. It’s not like they’ve done anything the traditional way so far anyways.

When the topic of John comes up, Jess leaves the conversation. He really is one hell of a sore spot with her and Dean tells Sam everything that Bobby told him today.

“Yeah man, good luck with that. It’s going to be like me telling him about Stanford all over again.”

Dean groans and rolls over to hide his face in a pillow, tilting his head so at least his words don’t get muffled. “Can we not talk about that night? It was a shitty ass night. If I’m lucky, dad’s never going to call back and I’ll be able to just keep on hunting monsters until I can see Cas again.”

“Have I mentioned yet that that really sucks?” Sam offers and Dean takes the change of topic, even if it’s one that just reminds him about the empty half of his bed. “Seriously, Dean, I can’t even imagine not knowing when I’d get to see Jess again.”

Okay, maybe this isn’t the topic that Dean wants to talk about either. It aggravates the hell out of him that he and Cas can’t see each other when _they_ want. Why does it have to be up to someone else to decide that for them? It’s not someone else’s relationship. It’s _theirs_. And thinking about this just gets him wondering if Cas is back at the clan yet. Has he talked to Raphael? Or has he told that Balthazar guy about them yet?

At this rate, he’s never going to get to sleep. Dean rolls over again to stare at the ceiling. “Hey, Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“If I emailed you a bunch of pictures, could you print them off for me? I need doubles. A set for me and a set for Cas.”

Sam takes a minute to process the question, as if Dean were asking him the meaning of the universe or some shit like that. “It’s not anything racy, is it? There are some things I have seen one time too many in my life, Dean, and I do _not_ want to see them again.”

“As if I’d ever let you see Cas naked.” He huffs, grinning at the ceiling. “Nah, they’re just a few pictures I took while we were hiking, or while Cas was making his mat or cooking, y’know? The worst thing in there is a picture of us kissing.”

“Yeah, fine. Why can’t you print them yourself?”

“Because Bobby’s printer is a piece of shit and his computer might actually be from the stone age. I’m not completely convinced it isn’t just a really big paper weight.” Dean contemplates getting out of bed to get his laptop and hijack the wifi he had all but forced Bobby to install, but decides against it. He’s way too comfortable to want to get out of bed right now. “I’ll send them in the morning.”

“No problem. Do you want me to mail them to you, or what?”

He reaches over to flick off the bedside lamp, swallowing a yawn while he does it. “I think Cas is gonna call me tomorrow about what his clan’s head honcho has to say about our sordid love affair. That’s going to be the deciding factor in what I do with my time from here on out, so I’ll let you know after that.”

“Got’cha.” Sam pauses for a moment. “You drove all day, didn’t you? Get some sleep.”

“I’m gonna just as soon as you stop talking.”

There’s a muffled shout of a ‘goodbye’ from Jess in the background and Sam echoes it before Dean hangs up. He fumbles in the dark for the charger and plugs it in. There’s no point in using an alarm. If someone doesn’t call to wake him, then Bobby will come get him not long after the sun comes up so he can make him bacon and eggs just the way he likes it. Dean’s not exactly sure when he became such a happy home maker, but he likes cooking and he likes providing and he’s good at both.

He just wishes he wasn’t falling asleep alone tonight.

The next day is spent out in what Dean calls ‘the barn’, working on a bunch of old junkers that Bobby’s trying to get up and running again so he can sell them. Dean’s a whiz with cars and the metal under his hands helps keep his mind off thinking about when the hell Cas is going to call him.

As it turns out, that doesn’t happen until Dean’s cooking up an early supper. When his phone goes off with Cas’s ringtone, Dean damn near vaults across the kitchen to his jacket to get it out of his pocket. He shouts a warning into the living room for Bobby to watch the food on the stove while he ducks into the hallway. Bobby is in the middle of a soap they both have as a guilty pleasure and he’s going to get one hell of a tongue lashing for interrupting the show – but he doesn’t care because _Cas is calling_.

Since yesterday morning there’s been this tense knot built up tight between Dean’s ribs and the moment he hears Cas say his name, it lets go. It’s like Cas’s voice is the best damn ganja and Dean can’t help relaxing. Of course Cas doesn’t follow normal phone etiquette and ask how he’s doing or says that he misses him. His next words have Dean’s stomach deciding to put its bid in for the Olympic high dive.

Just how bad would it be for them if he threw up while talking to Raphael?

x

The stars have been in the sky for hours by the time Silvanus pads out of the forest to climb the hidden path that leads to the cave entrances. During the winter months, Castiel’s clan live in the mountains themselves. There are several caves they’ve claimed as their own. One is a tunnel that leads deep to a massive cavern hollowed out by orrilonsa.

Most of the clan resides in that main cavern. An annex of it is devoted to Raphael’s quarters, sectioned off from the rest of the clan by hanging blankets and tapestries specially woven just for him. All along the edges of the cave and spiraling out toward the center are the tents and hearths of the smaller family units. Merchants set up their shops and work spaces right within the spaces they stake out as their own.

There are a few caves that can only be accessed from outside. The Hamiaah who stay in those are often ones who prefer peace and quiet, or weren’t fast enough to claim a space in the main cavern. Castiel prefers the smaller caves. There are less eyes, less voices, and he can feel a little more at home. This winter he shares one he claimed with Balthazar and a few other warriors who seem mostly indifferent to him, if not at least nicer than others.

The entrances are all covered with layers of blankets and everyone is always set up as far back as they can. Usually a few fires are maintained not far inside to keep back the cold and light the way for anyone coming in. The smaller groups often just have one fire in the center of the cave where all the cooking is done, sharing amongst themselves the food they make. Sometimes it feels to Castiel like this is what families might be like.

Silvanus lowers himself carefully on the sloping side of the mountain in front of their cave. The snow has been cleared, but the ground is slippery and Castiel nearly loses his footing as soon as he slides down. He carries a few rolls of blankets and mats inside, calling ahead to let them know that he is back.

Balthazar meets him just inside the blankets, helping pull back the last few and taking one of the bundles. “Welcome back! Just pass your things in. I’ll take them.”

With no small amount of gratefulness, Castiel quickly and carefully unloads everything from Silvanus’s back and gives them to Balthazar. He piles them carefully just beyond the fires and is waiting back at the entrance whenever Castiel turns around. None of the others come to help, but he’s not sure if that’s because they’re not there or if they’re already down for the night. They might just be unwilling to help and he doesn’t fault them for it.

“I just need to say goodbye to Silvanus.” He says to Balthazar as he hands him the last bag and ducks back outside.

Silvanus is sitting on his haunches, head tilted back to look at the stars. His eyes glow with the same eerie light as between his ribs, brightening a small area around them. After a few moments of silence, he looks down at Castiel and an immeasurable fondness creeps across the bond they share, warming Castiel’s insides and spreading through his wings. He steps forward and wraps his arms around Silvanus’s great wooden face, resting his cheek in the space between his eyes and folding his wings forward in the best hug he can give him.

“Thank you.” Castiel murmurs quietly. “For everything.”

 **I am not leaving you tonight, Qaal.** He grumbles against his stomach, dipping forward and raising his head to lift Castiel off his feet. **Tomorrow I will accompany you to visit Iaidon.**

Castiel drops to his feet and takes a few steps back in surprise. “You’ve barely ever entered the clan boundaries, let alone the caves. What if there isn’t any room for you between the tents?”

 **They will make room.** Silvanus snorts and shakes his head, tail whipping over the snow and rocks. **I will not leave your side until I know that no one will attempt to harm you.**

“I can defend myself.”

 **Against his guards, maybe. But Iaidon himself is far more powerful than you, Qaal.** He shakes his head again and lays down, eyes bright and watching Castiel closely. **I will go with you. They will not try anything in my presence.**

His wings twitch and shuffle against his back as he stares Silvanus down. Castiel knows how stubborn Silvanus is and it would be a fruitless endeavor to try and talk him out of it when his mind is already made up.

He sighs and crouches to rub the bark on his snout. “Just please do not cause a scene. They might not take it well that you’re there at all.”

 **It will be fine, Qaal. Go rest. Speak with your friend and sleep.** Silvanus lifts his head and the woven vines of his tongue sneak out to flick over his hand. **I will see you in the morning.**

Castiel hates leaving him alone outside yet again as he says his goodnight. If he’s going to warp and grow an extension to his home for Dean to use to go to the washroom, he should also see if he can make his home big enough to allow Silvanus to enter too. It would certainly take a long time, but if he grew a secondary ‘room’ around the entrance and made the entrance bigger, Silvanus would be able to come in and lay down whenever he wants. That’s something to consider and if he ever gets back home again, it might be something for him to do.

Balthazar has already moved all of Castiel’s things to the back of the cave and the empty spot where he had been set up prior to leaving. A few rolls of mats and blankets are still where Castiel left them, piled neatly against the wall and wrapped carefully around the pieces of the frames he’ll use to mark out the walls of his area. Balthazar is crouched by the bags and blatantly sifting through them, snooping like Castiel has only ever let him snoop.

“You’re lucky there isn’t anything incriminating in there or I might have had to challenge you.” Castiel rebuffs him by cuffing his ear with the edge of his wing. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see if you brought me anything. Did you bring me something?”

“I went home for the mating season, Balthazar. What could I have possibly brought you back from there?” He rolls his eyes and grabs the bottom of his mabza. The inside of the cave is extremely warm, heated by three fires and well insulated by the covered walls and entrance. Castiel is already starting to feel hot in his mabza and he pulls it off, dumping it in a heap next to Balthazar’s section of the cave.

He’s well aware of the calculating look that Balthazar gives him, but Castiel refuses to acknowledge it. There’s no telling what could be going through his friend’s mind at the moment and he’d rather not delve into that depravity first thing upon his return. Especially not when he still has his area to put together if he wants a place to sleep tonight.

With Balthazar’s assistance, it doesn’t take long for everything to be put together. They lay down the mats that will make up the floor of his area first, giving them boundaries along which to erect the walls Castiel had taken down before he’d left. The walls are little more than long sticks that fit snuggly between the floor and ceiling like a frame.

Castiel ties his biggest blankets over them and uses hooks carved into the ceiling to hang a blanket in the open space at the front, marking and covering the entrance. Really, this is only where he sleeps and keeps the majority of his things. His mats extend farther than the walls in the front and he puts together his weaving frame to one side. It’s almost like another barrier between him and the warrior to that side of his tent.

When Castiel ducks inside to focus on growing himself a nest, he isn’t expecting Balthazar to follow him. His bags of clothing and supplies are carefully arranged along the front walls of his tent and Castiel plans to grow another hanging nest to take up the whole back wall.

“So.” Balthazar says the moment the blanket falls behind him. He spreads his wings to curve along the walls and muffle their voices. “Tell me all about it.”

“All about what?” Castiel turns his back and focuses on the power seething through him. The glow under his feathers lights the space enough for him to see buy as he starts guiding vines to grow out of the ceiling and wall.

“About all the sex you had with your human, obviously.”

Peonies grow in a sweeping wave around their feet. They climb the back wall and Castiel is certain that they grow outside the boundaries of his area too. Judging by the disgruntled shouts of their cave-mates, he’s not wrong in thinking that. He abruptly loses his control over the vines and they twist aimlessly in the air with sporadic jerks until they hang limply to the ground.

Castiel turns to Balthazar slowly, his wings tucked tightly against his back and curving slightly over his shoulders. There’s a smug, almost proud smile on his friend’s face, but it does nothing to ease the riot of nerves behind his sternum. His throat feels suddenly too dry, clicking when Castiel swallows hard.

How could Balthazar possibly know about him and Dean? He’s positive that there was no one around his home except for Silvanus over the last week and Silvanus would never tell anyone. It’s not something that Castiel plans to keep secret from the clan, but Balthazar knowing without being told has caught him off guard. What else does he know that Castiel hasn’t told him yet?

Balthazar raises his eyebrows curiously. “Did you really think no one would notice that giant hickey on your neck? It’s ridiculously obvious, Cassie.”

A blush burns through him and Castiel turns away sharply, lifting a hand to cover the side of his throat. He’d forgotten entirely about the marks Dean had left on him. Ducking his head, he shrugs in answer and returns to animating the vines long enough to weave them tightly together to create a nest, leaving a space in the middle for him to climb in and out.

“Oh come on now.” Balthazar crowds in behind Castiel, leaning heavily over his back. “Don’t keep it a secret! I want all the dirty details! Did he bend over backwards for you or did you –”

“I’m not telling you anything.” He sniffs, shrugging and spreading his wings to get him to back away. “What happens between Dean and I is for no one but us to know. The only _detail_ that you’re getting is that you were right. Dean wanted to be more than friends for months prior to my return to the clan.”

Castiel doesn’t need to turn around to know Balthazar’s smile is too gleeful to be comfortable. “I _told_ you. This just proves that you should always listen to me, Cassie. I’m a fount of wisdom.” After a moment’s pause, his voice turns serious. “When are you going to tell Raphael?”

A nervous dread grows behind his ribs and Castiel tries hard to ignore it as he weaves the last of the vines together. “Tomorrow morning if I can get an audience with him. And Silvanus wants to come with me. How has his temperament been since the mating season?”

“So far so good. We haven’t received any bad news from across the pond, but you know his moods. They can change with the winds.”

It’s a fitting metaphor considering Raphael is a zonglonsa. He can control the winds, calling up great storms with the strength to rip through a Hamiaah’s wings and send them plummeting to the ground. Castiel has never seen it, but he’s heard the stories of the many battles Raphael fought in long before he was born. Raphael was a force of nature, dangerous and deadly. It played a large part in why he was chosen to lead when the previous Iaidon stepped down. An Iaidon must always be strong enough to defend their clan.

As the night wears on and Castiel puts the finishes touches on his nest, lining it with the last of his mats and blankets, he and Balthazar talk in hushed whispers. It’s an overall pointless conversation, considering that no matter how much they talk, nothing will prepare Castiel for the talk he’ll have to have with Raphael. Neither of them can accurately predict how he’ll react or what he’ll say, though Balthazar at least tries to ask all the questions he thinks Raphael will.

By the time Castiel shrugs out of his clothes and climbs into his nest, he’s exhausted. He’s stayed awake much later than he should have and his mind feels heavy, weighted with all the possibilities of tomorrow. Knowing that makes it harder to sleep and Castiel spends half the night tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. It’s difficult when his nest is smaller than what he had for over two weeks and he doesn’t have Dean beside him.

Balthazar wakes him in the late morning with tea and honey smeared bread that Castiel eats it sitting in front of his area, staring at the fire that marks the center of their group of tents. He barely remembers cleaning his teeth or getting dressed. Everything from leaving his tent to entering the main cavern is a blur and he’s not even sure if he left his mabza on purpose or if he just forgot to put it on. Castiel barely even notices Silvanus is with him until the people around him fall silent when he leaves the tunnel from outside and enters the main cavern.

“Good luck, Cassie.” Balthazar says quietly at his shoulder before he slips away into the crowd of Hamiaah standing still between the many tents, staring at them.

Castiel hadn’t even realized Balthazar was with him. His mind is too distracted with worry and doubt and trying to remember absolutely everything that he’s going to have to tell Raphael. He starts with surprise when Silvanus nudges his back with his nose, shoving him forward a few steps.

**Move, Qaal. Now is not the time to tarry.**

Any Hamiaah milling on the paths between the tents quickly clear the way as Castiel takes the outer ring, following it toward Iaidon’s annex. The light from the many fires gives the cavern a soft, warm glow but Castiel hates it. The only cave he likes is the one at the back of his home in the forest. Even then, he doesn’t spend days sitting in it. He prefers to be surrounded with trees than he does stone. But there simply aren’t enough mirlonsa to grow proper shelter for every family in the clan for them to remain outside during the winter.

The murmuring starts sooner than he expected. Their words are too muffled for him to hear and at first Castiel thinks they’re talking about him. He tries not to show how self-conscious he feels, keeping his shoulders straight and his head up, wings held primly against his back. It’s not until he hears a snort behind him that he realizes, of course, that they’re all probably talking about Silvanus. He’s never come this far into their midst before.

When Castiel glances over his shoulder, he nearly laughs. Silvanus is practically prancing behind him. His head is held high, chin raised and tail held straight out behind him. All the foliage gracing his body is spread in display. He’s _showing off_ and it’s enough to make Castiel smile, relaxing slightly. The youngest in the clan group behind their parent’s legs and stare as he and Silvanus pass by.

“You look silly.” Castiel mutters over his shoulder, only loud enough for Silvanus to hear.

 **They revere me.** He preens, lifting his feet higher with every step and tossing his head. **I should walk among them more often.**

“Don’t let this go to your head. It’s already big enough.”

Silvanus snorts, but he gets no less dramatic with his movements. Castiel doesn’t bother to check to see if anyone follows them to Iaidon’s annex. There are several others grouped around the tapestries, forming a line of those requesting audience with Raphael. Silvanus sits behind him as Castiel takes his place at the end of the line to wait for his turn.

The wait lasts for hours, each person ahead of him taking a different amount of time with Raphael depending on the issue they bring to him for his guidance or council. The closer Castiel gets to the break in the tapestries, the more queasy he feels. There are thousands of ways that this could go wrong and barely a handful of ways he would like it to go. Iaidon’s approval is necessary and as long as Castiel has that, he would be mostly satisfied with any schedule he’s given that would allow him to leave the clan and his duties to visit with Dean.

Oddly enough, the moment Castiel actually steps through the tapestries with Silvanus following right behind him, a clam settles through him and his mind clears. It feels not unlike the calm he feels when in battle and he has to force his wings to hold still against his back. Nothing good would come from them spreading aggressively in front of his clan’s Iaidon.

Raphael is seated on a pile of pillows, reclining back against them. He looks surprised to see Castiel, and even more so to see Silvanus. His councilors and advisors sit around him on plush mats. There are tapestries and blankets hanging everywhere, sectioning off the large space into different rooms. Castiel spares them no attention, his focus now solely on Raphael and the message he has to give him.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Castiel?” Raphael smile is sardonic and his eyes flick back and forth between him and Silvanus.

“Iaidon.” He murmurs in false reverence, dipping forward in a bow as soon as he is close enough. To his side, Silvanus does the same before he sits on his haunches with a loud thump.

Castiel steels himself before he looks up and continues speaking in formal Enochian. There’s no point in dragging this out. “I come to you with a request for your permission to continue the romantic relationship I now have with Dean Winchester. He is both Human and a hunter of Hamiamma and their monstrous offspring.”

He should inform Raphael and the councilors that Dean was once a hamibaghie, but he can’t bring himself to mention it now. If anything, they would automatically refuse him and he might very well be called a traitor. They might kill him. Or worse yet, take his wings. If that doesn’t kill him, they could leave him to die in the woods, banished and alone.

The councilors wings all flare in surprise and they start whispering to each other quickly. Castiel doesn’t look at them. They’re merely advisors to Raphael and _he_ makes the final decision. Except Raphael isn’t saying anything and he’s barely moved. The only display of his surprise is the rise of his eyebrows.

For a few, tense moments, he says nothing and then he shifts, sitting forward and crossing his legs under him. “We knew you were friends with a Human. Why didn’t you inform us of your relationship before you left?”

“Dean and I were nothing more than close friends when I left for the season. I was not aware that he was interested in pursuing a relationship with me until a week ago.” The memories of growing the flowers and of their first proper kiss brings a small smile to Castiel’s lips as he talks. “I bring this information to you in the hopes that over the coming months you will allow me to leave to see Dean in between my duties.”

Raphael’s wings twitch and his eyes narrows slightly. He sits back against the pillows and taps his fingers on his thighs. All Castiel can do is look back steadily and wait. He’s said his peace and he can say more if Raphael asks it but he won’t know what to say if Raphael doesn’t _ask_.

“Did you bring your guardian to intimidate me into giving you the answer you wanted, Castiel?”

That was not one of the questions he was expecting and the surprise reflects in the flutter of his wings. Castiel glances back at Silvanus and the startled snort he makes. “Absolutely not. Silvanus wanted to accompany me himself and wouldn’t listen when I told him not to.” Thankfully, Silvanus doesn’t attempt to say anything, but he does snort again and turn an unhappy glare on him. “He is very protective of me because of what happened to his first creator. Please excuse him. He means no harm.”

Silvanus rumbles a growl in his chest, but he dips his head until his nose touches the ground. It’s a poor bow, it is enough and Raphael seems to accept it.

He glances to his councilors on either side of him. “Have any of you questions for Castiel about his relationship with the Human?”

“I do.” One to his right raises her hand. “How did you stay in contact with him to let him know when to meet with you?”

His chest feels like it constricts at the question. It’s one that he expected and one that he knows he will have to answer. Carefully, Castiel undoes the bag at his hip, loosening the fastenings until he can lift the satellite phone out of it. “With this.”

There are several gasps of surprise when he holds it up. “Over the last few months since my return, I’ve been stepping away once a week to talk to him for half an hour or so at a time. I was able to tell him when I would be returning and when he should meet me. I never once gave him details about how we train or what we do. He knows nothing that could be used against the clan.”

Raphael’s lips press into a thin line and his wings flare slightly. “You brought Human technology into the clan without my consent?”

“I did it consciously knowing full well that you would likely have forbidden it and I ask for your forgiveness.” Castiel bows his head and folds his wings in tight, trying to look smaller and less threatening in deference to Raphael’s displeasure. “I didn’t want to lose the only source of contact I have with Dean outside of his visits.”

“I am well aware of what their technology can do, Castiel. If the wrong Human has the right tools, they could track that device to our clan. What would you have us do then?”

Castiel shakes his head and looks up firmly. “Dean would never do that. I trust him with my life and contact with him could be a benefit to the clan.”

Another of the advisors flaps his wings indignantly. “And how would he do that?”

“He has connections within the hunter community. Who better to notice the movements of Hamiamma and their children beyond our clan borders than hunters?” Castiel puts the phone away quickly. Hopefully with it out of sight, Raphael will not be so unhappy by its presence. “The Hamiamma and many of their children blend in with Humans far better than we do. Hunters can track them to the places where we wouldn’t risk a venture. Dean is offering himself and all the connections at his disposal to aide every clan during this war.”

Silence follows his words and Castiel tries not to shift uncomfortably under their stares. He doesn’t have long to wait, but it is a tense moment before Raphael lifts his hand and makes a small gesture. “Step outside, Castiel. We have things to discuss and we will summon you when we are done.”

Castiel bows low and backs away a few steps before he turns on his heel and leaves. The moment he’s outside the tapestries, he lets out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Balthazar is sitting on a broken stalagmite against a wall nearby and Castiel goes to him, sitting down heavily in front of it and leaning his forehead against the base.

A hard nose presses against his back just under his wings and rubs slightly. **All will be fine, Qaal.**

“I take it that things didn’t go well?” Balthazar asks, nudging the top of Castiel’s head with his foot.

He shrugs and lets his wings droop to the floor. “Hard to say. I was sent out here while they discuss what to do about the fact that I’ve been carrying around a phone for the last few months so I could stay in contact with Dean.”

“You did _what_?” Balthazar taps him sharply with his toes. “Are you an idiot, Cassie? What in the name of Caosgi were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that talking with Dean makes me happy and I didn’t want to lose that happiness. Or him.” Castiel lifts his head to glare at him. “I was selfish and it might very well cost me Raphael’s permission to be able to see Dean again anytime soon.”

Silvanus nudges him again. **It will be okay.**

If only he could believe him.

“I got you a syrup stick.” Balthazar offers tentatively, holding up a stick with frozen syrup wrapped around it.

Without hesitation, Castiel reaches up to accept it. He eats it slowly while leaning back against Silvanus’s head and thinking. Mostly he hopes, and quietly prays to Caosgi that Raphael won’t see it fit to punish him for this. He never met the clan any harm by it. All Castiel wanted was to stay happy and right Dean is one of the very few things in his life that brings him joy. Is it so wrong that he didn’t want to let that go?

It’s already slipping into late afternoon by the time Raphael summons him back into the annex and Castiel has long finished cleaning the stick of any syrup. He’s scratched several nonsensical symbols into the dirt with it, drawing designs and erasing them with a sweep of his hand to draw new ones. Balthazar gives him a hopeful look and promises he’ll wait right where he is until Castiel comes back. The smile he returns is weak at best and Silvanus has to nudge him again before he can steel himself to pass between the tapestries.

“I will make this short.” Raphael announces before Castiel has even reached the same spot he’d been standing in before. “For bringing Human things into our clan without my permission, your punishment should be my refusal of your relationship.”

Castiel’s stomach sinks immediately and his legs feel weak. He has no idea how he can still be standing. If Raphael completely refuses it, he might never be allowed to see Dean. He would be faced with choosing his clan, or choosing Dean – and that’s not a decision he can make.

“But –” He continues and Castiel holds his breath. “But we have wronged you – the clan, and myself. I would never have asked for you to return if I didn’t believe that having you would be an asset.” It almost seems to pain him having to say this, each word said around a frown. “You’re one of our sharpest tacticians and we acknowledge that what happened on the coast was not completely your fault. Your decision was sound and the Hamiamma’s retaliation is what caused the disaster.”

These are all things that Castiel already knows and he tries not to let his frustration show. All he wants is to know what the decision is on his relationship with Dean.

“You will be needed in the coming war. As such, I will let the use of the Human’s device go – once we have confirmed with our own contacts that it cannot be used against us to lead anyone to our location.”

“May I speak?” Castiel asks, surprised that his voice isn’t wavering. He doesn’t continue until Raphael nods. “Dean explained this to me once. It’s one of the reasons why we only speak when I call him. The phone cannot be used to find our location when it is off. I never turn it on unless I am going to speak with him.”

“Then you will keep it off until our trusted contacts can confirm that it can’t be used against us. Until that time, you are allowed to make one call to your Human.” Raphael stands, carefully stepping down out of his mount of pillows. “You will make it now and I will speak with him.”

Castiel almost fumbles to pull the phone from its pouch. He has no idea what Raphael will say to Dean, but he can’t deny him this. This is a fragile moment and Castiel doesn’t want to do anything that will risk getting the permission he desires.

As he turns the phone back on, Raphael continues speaking. “What do you expect of your relationship with this Human?”

“I don’t know.” He says truthfully, waiting for the beep that signals the phone is ready to use. “I just want to be with him for as long as he’ll have me.”

The phone beeps when he holds down the button to call Dean’s number. Their conversation ends when he listens to it ring the few times before Dean answers. He should wait for him to say hello, or he should say something similar, but Castiel is nothing more than a jumble of nerves right now.

“Dean.” He says pointedly to get his attention and a small warmth blooms in his chest when he hears Dean’s soft sigh. If only he could talk to him properly right now. Castiel would greatly like to relax to the sound of Dean’s voice too. It’s unfortunate that they don’t have that luxury right now. “Dean. Raphael would like to speak to you.”

For a moment, there’s silence and then Dean swears sharply. “Jesus shit, Cas, _now_?”

“Yes, now.” Castiel holds the phone out and Raphael takes it gingerly, a slightly sour look to his face as he puts it to his ear.

“Dean Winchester? – Please, don’t bother with the small talk.” Every time Raphael pauses, Castiel wishes he could hear what Dean was saying. It’s unnerving only being privy to one half of the conversation. “Castiel has told me of your relationship. Before I can decide if you’re worthy of potentially becoming a member of the clan I need to meet you first.”

Castiel wasn’t aware that it was possible to wince twice in almost the same moment. He and Dean haven’t spoken yet about the plans for their relationship. For Dean to become a full member of the clan, they would have to marry and Castiel isn’t sure if that’s a conversation they’ll ever have. And even though he suspected that Raphael would want to meet Dean before making his decision, he still wasn’t prepared to hear it.

“Yes, you will have  to travel here. – Yes, Castiel will be present. – Stop talking and listen closely to what I am about to tell you.” Raphael pauses and gives Castiel an exasperated look, rolling his eyes sharply. “Well, write it down if you have to. I’m only going to say it once.”

He holds his breath as Raphael quickly gives Dean a phone number. “Her name is Amelia. You will call her and she will make the arrangements for us to meet at one of our felanthe – _Don’t_ interrupt me. It’s a meeting place. – Yes, cabins. I see Castiel already told you of those.” Castiel ducks his head at the narrow-eyed glare Raphael subjects him to. “It would do you well to arrange this as soon as possible. Until then you will have no contact with Castiel. I will be keeping his phone until we can confirm that it cannot be tracked to us.”

His heart twists behind his ribs and Castiel tries to breathe deep to calm the sick feeling stewing in his gut. It could be weeks before this meeting. He’s never gone that long without talking to Dean and he’s not sure how long it will be before Raphael will return his phone to him.

Raphael holds the phone back out to him. “End your call.”

“Cas?” Dean says as soon as he can hear him again. “I’m going to call this Amelia chick right now. I’ll be up there as soon as I can, okay?”

“I look forward to it.” He turns slightly away from Raphael as he talks. “I hope to see you soon.”

“Me too. Shit – The phone’s safe, I swear. So you should get it back real quick. You’ll – um – you’ll be okay, right? Are you in trouble for this?”

“It’s fine, Dean. I’ll see you at the meeting and if I’m allowed, I’ll talk to you sooner than that.”

Dean groans and muffles a few swears under his breath. “This is fucking _bullshit_. If you’re _allowed_ – you’re a hundred and thirty three freaking years old. You can make your own – Fuck. Sorry. It just, it _really_ pisses me off that we need _permission_.”

“I know. I miss you too.”

The small laugh is worth it and it warms Castiel from the inside. He hates saying goodbye and he loathes it even more when he has to turn the phone off, giving it the small bag he keeps it in to Raphael. A sour taste burns the back of his tongue as he watches Raphael tie it to the belt around his waist. Castiel nearly chokes on his murmured ‘thank you’ as he bows.

As he walks out from between the tapestries with Silvanus thumping behind him at his heels, he can’t decide if that went well or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Peony: bashfulness


	37. The Felanthe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mandy is quiet for a few lines of ink before she clears her throat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, and it might be too late to ask this, but – Are you sure you want something so permanent when you’ve only been dating a few weeks? What if you two don’t work out as boyfriends? Are you still going to want this tattoo then? It’ll be a bitch to get covered up or removed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Dean’s barely hung up on Cas before he’s dialing the number Raphael gave him. That hadn’t gone _too_ bad. At least, he doesn’t think it did. Maybe he should’ve kept a tighter lid on his stupid mouth, but he didn’t actually say anything that could sabotage this thing. Raphael is giving them a chance. Against all the odds, he’s actually willing to _meet_ Dean. Which – yeah, he’s just not going to think about what _that’s_ gonna be like. His heart might not be able to handle it.

The phone rings out and goes to voicemail. Fuck, Dean _hates_ voicemails. He never knows what to say and he always manages to stumble over his words or just sound so fucking stupid. It’s the worst. Whoever invented voicemail was a colossal jerk.

He flinches at the beep and clears his throat. “Hey, hi, this is – my name is Dean Winchester. I was given – Raphael gave me this number to talk to Amelia. I need to set up an appointment with him. It’s really important, please call me back at –” The number falls off his tongue from memory and Dean stammers through a goodbye before he hangs up.

Bobby is in the process of dumping a can of cream of chicken soup into a pan full of sizzling chicken when Dean comes back into the kitchen. He gladly sidesteps to let Dean take over and add the remaining ingredients to the sauce. While he finishes cooking, Dean can’t help constantly checking his phone. Every few minutes he’s worrying about the charge, or the service, or if he left a clear enough message. What time is it in Canada even?

His phone goes off just as they’re sitting down to eat and waves for him to stay. Dean grabs a pen and paper just as he’s flipping the phone open. “Hello?”

“Dean Winchester?” Well, she sounds pleasant enough. And she must like animals. It sounds like a zoo in the background and any person with that many animals _can’t_ be mean, right?

“Yeah, this is him.”

“Amelia Richardson. So, I hear we have a mutual friend you want to meet.”

He shoves a forkful of rice into his mouth, swallowing quickly before answering. “He’s not the friend I want to see, but apparently this is what I need to do to see the one I do.”

“I heard.” There’s a rustling sound, a door closing, and the sounds of all the animals gets much quieter. “I just got off a call with Raphael and he is not a happy bunny right now. It’s your phone I’m going to have to get checked out, isn’t it?”

Dean winces and pushes the food around on his plate a bit. “Yeah, sorry.” He takes another bite of his dinner before asking the question that’s burning the tip of his tongue. “How is this going to go down?”

“Simple enough. We settle on a date and a time, you come up here and meet me and I’ll take you to the cabin. From there on out, it’s your game.” She sighs and Dean imagines her sitting back in a generic kind of chair. His imagination doesn’t work so well when he doesn’t know what someone looks like, or where they are. “You got a pen handy?”

“You bet I do.”

She rattles off the name of a dinky little town up in northern British Columbia. Dean resists saying anything about Canadians and their weird ass names for everything because maybe it would not be such a smart idea to insult the lady who’s the key to getting to see Cas again. Amelia gives him the name of an Inn and a time to be there. The date she gives him is, judging by the calendar on the wall, more than three weeks out and it makes Dean’s stomach contemplate ejecting all the food he just put in it.

“We can’t get anything sooner?”

“Sorry sport, it’s not in the cards. I need time for them to get me that phone of yours and get it checked out. All per Raphael’s orders.” Amelia at least sounds sort of sympathetic. “And I’m going to have to communicate with them about which cabin we’re going to use. If, for whatever reason, I can manage to get everything wrapped up sooner, how quick would you be able to get here?”

“A day, day and a half? I’d be driving.”

“You couldn’t fly up here?”

He shudders at just the mention of it. “Planes and me? Nuh uh, don’t mix.”

She snorts a laugh and Dean frowns down at the instructions on his paper until she’s done. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll call you if we can get things moved ahead. For now, stick to what we’ve got. Okay?”

Dean sighs and sits back, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, okay.” It’s the best he’s got and at least that’s progress. Now he’s got a concrete date that he _knows_ – barring some huge fuck up with the phone or the clan – that he’s going to see Cas again. Things are a hell of a lot better now than they were ten minutes ago. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. See you later.” And just like that, she hangs up. It’s an abrupt end to the call and Dean stares at his phone for a minute. Aren’t Canadians supposed to be polite or something? That didn’t feel very polite to him.

Bobby waits until Dean puts the phone down. “That went well?”

“Seems like.” He taps the back of the phone, staring at it. “Looks like I’m going to Canada.”

“Is your passport still valid? You got one when you were sixteen.”

“Don’t even think I’ve still got it.” Dean shrugs and starts eating again. “I’ll try getting your damn printer working long enough to print off the application papers tonight and apply for it tomorrow.”

And that’s exactly what he does, paying extra even to get it processed faster than usual. After that, Dean does as much as he can to keep himself busy in the week until his tattoo appointment. Bobby is more than happy to help with that. Dean barely has time to breathe between all the cars he’s fixing up and all the errands he goes on.

It seems like Bobby’s really committing himself to the whole hunter gig and Dean couldn’t be more proud if he tried. He’s clearing out all sorts of space on his shelves for old books and things he’s pulling out of storage – shit that Dean had no idea he owned. Everything is stuff that Bobby’s been collecting since he learned about monster hunting and now that he’s out of the Angel game he’s not holding back.

Dean ends up running all over the state for things Bobby’s flagged as necessary. As far as he can tell, Bobby is trying to build up one heck of a library. Sure, he may have a copy of all Dean’s notes of the stuff he learned from Cas but that’s only the tip of the iceberg. There’s a fuck ton more information out there and Dean’s hunting it down piece by piece in person and on the internet.

Half his days are spent photocopying books at the library and arranging them in binders or stapling them together. It would be nice to have the real books, but Bobby drew the line at actually stealing the damn thing. He’d borrow it, sure, but Bobby likes to _keep_ things. He’s got pack-rat fever and Dean is very carefully not saying anything about that. With his days at the library, Dean’s evenings are at his computer hunting down anything that seems remotely helpful on the internet and buying shit with Bobby’s credit cards.

There’s only one day that Dean is actually free. In the morning paper Bobby finds an article that hints at the possibilities of a haunting a few towns over and Dean drives over to salt and burn the ghost, taking his sweet time to do it just so he can relax for a little bit with a few slices of pie at a diner. Bobby doesn’t seem to mind – especially when Dean brings him back a dessert of his own. The man has a sweet tooth that rivals Dean’s own.

John doesn’t call back that whole week and Dean puts it out of his mind.

With everything he’s doing to keep busy, it’s really a surprise when his tattoo appointment reminder pops up on his phone one morning. It came around way faster than he thought it would and Dean gets a little jittery on the drive there. This is going to be his second tattoo and even though the first wasn’t  all that bad, he’s still feeling that rush of adrenaline that comes with getting excited about something. He’s going to have one hell of a surprise for Cas when he sees him in a couple weeks.

Mandy is waiting for him at the counter when he walks in. She smiles brightly when she sees him and Dean tries really hard not to notice that she’s wearing more makeup than the last time he saw her. It’s just a coincidence, right? Girls do that all the time. They dress up whenever they feel like it and it has absolutely nothing to do with Dean. Please, for the love of all that is monogamous, let it have nothing to do with Dean. She’s pretty, and a little bit feisty, and if Dean wasn’t head over heels for Cas he’d probably walk out of this with a phone number in his pocket and a date for later tonight.

She’s barely gotten started with inking the outline Cas’s painting left on his skin when she starts with the questions. “I’ve gotta ask. Why are you covering up the original?”

Dean catches himself before he can shrug. “It’s kind of symbolic, I guess. The original is from a life I’m not a part of anymore and this new one is –” He stops, trying to think of the right word to use for Cas. There’s nothing that properly sums up exactly what Cas is to him but he needs to use a word she’ll understand. Fuck it. “This new one was painted by my boyfriend. It’s got a lot of meaning to the both of us and I’m getting the other one tattooed over as a surprise for him.”

“Oh, really? When did you lovebirds meet?” Mandy doesn’t stop and she doesn’t even sound the least bit disappointed. Maybe Dean read her wrong. Either that or she’s one hell of a professional and his respect for her goes up another few notches.

“Last April.” Is this something he should be talking about? He feels a little weird saying anything about it with someone who isn’t family, but it’s also kinda cathartic. Just getting to talk about Cas with someone who knows nothing about either of them. Yeah, he can definitely talk about this. “It was kind of like oil and water at first, but we got along better than expected and he’s basically been my best friend since.”

She puts a hand on his chin to guide his head a little more to the side to stretch out the area better. “That’s sweet. When did you hook up?”

“Two weeks ago. Basically, New Years. It was a fucking _awesome_ start to the year.” Dean gives the wall a goofy grin. It’s one of those smiles that he just can’t stop. “About a day before he painted this on me.”

Mandy is quiet for a few lines of ink before she clears her throat. “Don’t take this the wrong way, and it might be too late to ask this, but – Are you sure you want something so permanent when you’ve only been dating a few weeks? What if you two don’t work out as boyfriends? Are you still going to want this tattoo then? It’ll be a bitch to get covered up or removed.”

Dean thinks it over for a while. Of course the question came up a few times over the last week. Hell, he thought about it a lot while he was with Cas too. The question has been on his mind basically right from the moment he decided that he wanted to cover up the hunter mark with this. And every time he thinks about the question, the same answer always comes bouncing back.

“I’m a better person because of him and I don’t ever want to forget what he’s done for me.”

Something sharp aches behind his ribs and Dean closes his eyes. Talking about Cas just makes him miss the guy more and if it didn’t hold the potential to royally fuck things up with Raphael, Dean would pick up the phone and call Cas right now. He just wants to hear his voice and talk about stupid things like the books they’re reading or if Cas even has the time to read in between all the training he’s doing.

They didn’t even talk  about that when they were together. Dean has no idea if Cas’s training is done, or how much more he has to do, or even what’s going to happen after he’s finished. That’s all kind of a topic that they both didn’t really want to touch on. There was much more happier – and sexier – things to do than talk about war and the fact that Cas might be out there right now in the middle of some heated, hidden battle with the forces of evil and holy _shit_. Cas is badass and Dean needs to not think about him kicking the shit out of some monster or demon or whatever because that is just going to play into every kink Dean’s got. And now is _really_ not the time for it.

Mandy is really good at what she does. She manages to turn the questions onto family and Dean falls into the comfortable habit of singing Sammy’s praises. He could talk about his brother all damn day if it meant not having to think about how much he _really_ misses Cas right now. A week once a month or once in a while is barely enough for him. It leaves Dean craving _more_ and if he’s not careful, he’s going to start thinking about how he can help end this war faster so he and Cas can see each other more.

He wants things to go back to the way they were. As awesome as it is that Cas is finally getting to socialize and actually _talk_ to people, Dean really misses when it was just the two of them. Dean wants to hang out with Cas back in the tree house, spending days taking care of the garden, collecting eggs, swimming and just having fun without all that tension they used to have. They could go for a walk and when Cas starts talking about all the plants again, Dean could totally lay one on him just to shut him up. No more _wishing_. He could actually, honest to God, push Cas up against a tree and kiss him like he’s thought about doing on almost every walk they’ve ever been on.

“Alright, hotshot. You’re all finished.” Mandy sits back and gestures at the mirror hanging on the wall. “Why don’t you take a look?”

Dean sits up slowly and she helps him with a hand on his back. The skin all around the tattoo is red and it all looks a little swollen, but it looks exactly like the one that Cas did. The star at the center of it all is the only sign of the original tattoo and Dean loves it. He tells Mandy as much and leaves her a decent tip when he pays, promising to recommend her to anyone in the area who needs a tattoo. Granted, Bobby is the only person he knows in Sioux Falls, but he’s got a hunter’s mark that he might want to get covered up too.

With a bottle of the lotion he’s supposed to put on the tattoo every night weighing down the pocket of his coat, Dean heads back to Bobby’s. There’s no way he can do anything even remotely close to hunting with the tattoo healing, so it looks like he’s going to be playing desk jockey for Bobby again. It should be mostly – if not completely – healed by the time he heads north to meet up with Amelia, but that’s still a few weeks out and it’s going to be boring as fuck for him. At least, at some point, Dean’s going to have to go to Sam’s. That’s something he can look forward to.

The biggest surprise is on the day when he comes back from the library with a few binders full of photocopies to find Bobby swearing at the cable connections for a brand spanking new computer.

“How does this damn thing – where the hell does the mouse plug in?” He looks up at Dean from the floor and shakes a handful of wires at him. “None of these things are even _labeled_.”

“They’re engraved with the matching symbol at the bottom of the – never mind. Just let me do it.” Dean shoos him out of the way and takes his spot. “How come you’re giving up the old boulder?”

“What do you think?” Bobby grumbles, pulling a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers out of his desk drawer. “It’s the information age and I won’t always have your laptop around to search shit up. Figured I’d treat myself.”

Dean plugs everything into the right slot and turns the PC around again. “Well, with a monitor that size, at least you won’t have to squint at porn to see anything now.”

Bobby taps the top of his head with the bottle none to gently, grumbling about how big of an idjit he is even as he hands him down the glass. Dean takes his time with the few fingers of whiskey he’d been given and finishes setting up the rest of the computer while Bobby spouts a few profanities at the box. Apparently he regrets buying a computer with too many ‘bells and whistles’. Whatever his problem is, Dean finds it beyond amusing and he’s more than happy to antagonize him a little about it.

While he heals up and in between all the things Bobby has him collecting, Dean works on remodeling the trunk of the Impala. He installs a false bottom and under that, he makes sections for all his weapons. The devana doesn’t get much love these days, but Dean still leaves a special spot for her where she won’t get scuffed and the bow won’t be broken. Everything else is shot gun shells packed with rock salt, bags and boxes of regular salt, a couple lighters, a few small containers of gasoline, and various knives and guns of different shapes, sizes, and composition.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever need a bronze dagger for a siren, or a bamboo dagger for an okami, but Cas wants him prepared and it’s no skin off his nose to keep things like that tucked away in a corner of the trunk. If Humans can hop a plane and go anywhere in the world, it wouldn’t be a far cry to assume that monsters can too.

Once he’s all set, he gets Bobby to give it a once over and make sure that he’s got everything right. The last thing Dean expects is for Bobby to check the glove box. “What’re you looking for?”

“Your IDs.”

“I keep all my IDs on me.”

“Not your real ones, idjit.” Bobby slams the door and looks at Dean over the hood of the car. “Your fake IDs. FBI, CIA, NSA, Park Rangers, local police – that sort of thing. You don’t have any of those? What about disguises. Costumes. A _suit_?”

Dean’s silence is apparently the best answer because Bobby rolls his eyes. “You’re only half prepared for hunts, boy. How you’ve managed this long, I don’t know. Haven’t you actually _talked_ to other hunters? Learned from them?”

“No?”

Wrong answer. Or maybe it’s the right one? It’s the whole reason Dean finds himself walking into an abandoned warehouse barely a week out from his date with Amelia. He’s got his passport in the car and his suit is itching him in places he didn’t know could itch. How can people go to work in these things all day? He’s never had to wear one before and it’s driving him _crazy_.

And why the hell did Bobby’s contact pick an _abandoned warehouse_ of all things? That’s more than a little creepy. Especially since Dean never talked to the guy on the same number and Bobby said he was maybe a little bit of a conspiracy nut. This ‘Frank’ is kind of creeping Dean out, but either way, he apparently makes the best damn IDs and he’s up to date on every single style and design – and for a price, he’ll crank out a new one for you whenever the agencies change anything.

Dean has a pocket full of cash for the guy, not that he actually sees him. Frank never shows up in person, but he’s got some kind of set up in a corner with a camera and a speaker. From wherever the hell he is, he directs Dean to sit on a stool in front of a back drop and takes about a half dozen pictures before he’s satisfied. Dean leaves the money on the stool and gets the hell out of dodge before Frank decides to do something crazy like detonate the place to cover his tracks.

Since he’s already on the road and about halfway there, Dean takes the trip to Frank’s Warehouse of Weird as the perfect excuse to visit Sam and Jess. Which is maybe just another excuse to show off his bitching new tattoo and pick up the pictures that Sam printed for him. Sam went all out and even printed them on glossy photo paper. Jess took the extra step and put both sets in little flip books that Dean isn’t sure he appreciates or hates with a passion. But there are a ton of empty pages in it and that would just be one hell of an excuse for him to take more, isn’t it?

Add that to the fact that they got him a digital camera as a birthday present and yeah, he’s totally going to be taking more pictures of him and Cas. First things first, he breaks in the camera with a couple shots of Jess and Sam being the dorks that they are while they treat him to burgers and pie. The whole night gets documented with his new camera and Sam even shows him how to upload them to his laptop.

Dean can’t remember having a better birthday.

Especially when he leaves the next morning and it’s just one road trip and a few days between him and seeing Cas again. He gets to Amelia’s specified Inn earlier than expected, but it’s worth it. The town is small and the mountains rising up on the horizon look a little foreboding. Everything being covered in an insane layer of snow doesn’t help matters much.

While snooping through the town, Dean finds out that Amelia is the local vet. He doesn’t actually see her until she shows up at the Inn at the exact time and day that she said she would. It’s bright and early on the day of the meeting and she drops down unexpectedly on the seat opposite him in the middle of his breakfast.

Amelia looks him over, tilts her head, and gives him a smile. “Relax. Everything’s going fine. Look. You can even have this back.” She puts the bag that Cas keeps the satellite phone in, phone included, on the table. “If all goes well at this meeting, you can give it back to your Angel yourself.”

He swallows his mouthful of bacon and eggs. “When are we heading to the cabin?”

“As soon as you’re finished eating. You’ll follow my truck and I hope your fancy car can handle snowy roads. We keep them clear enough, but it’s still hard for city cars that aren’t prepared. They’re going to meet us there this afternoon.”

Dean should be ashamed for how quickly he inhales the last of his breakfast, but he’s really not. There are few things in his life he’s been more excited for than seeing Cas. Amelia just watches him with a tilt to her head and a raised eyebrow, but she doesn’t say anything and Dean kind of appreciates it. The last thing he needs is to be teased about being happy to see someone important to him.

She doesn’t make him check out of the Inn before they leave, but Amelia does more than subtly suggest that he brings all his shit with him. Dean’s fine with that. He doesn’t really like being separated from his stuff if he can help it.

The cabin is a few hour’s drive away from town, straight toward the mountains and well into the forest. It’s exactly what Dean expected from what Cas said – a squat little log cabin with one of those little pipe chimney’s sticking out one side of the roof. Which means the place is probably heated by a wood burning stove. Dean’s suspicions are confirmed when they walk in and the place is only slightly warmer than outside.

Just like Cas’s place, the walls are covered in mats and hanging blankets. It’s a one room deal with a bathroom in the back corner (Dean nearly cries because _plumbing_ ), with a bed tucked opposite that, a kitchen built around a wood burning stove to the right of the door, and a table and chairs in the other corner. Right at the center of the whole cabin is a fire pit that looks a lot like the one Cas uses to cook on. Everything looks like a weird mash up of Human and Hamiaah décor and Dean kind of likes it. If he and Cas ever end up living together permanently, he could see them living in a place like this.

As per Amelia’s succinct orders, Dean leaves all his stuff in the car and helps her bring in bags of wood and more food than Dean thinks they’re going to need it they’re only going to be here for the day. She puts all the food in an un-insulated wooden box built into the wall. It’s the best example of an ‘ice box’ that Dean has ever seen. He takes care of getting a fire started in the pit while Amelia builds up a fire in the stove and he doesn’t question why she fills a kettle with snow and leaves it on the counter.

“You can sit down, you know. They’re not going to be here right away.” Amelia points at the table and Dean completely ignores it.

He’d rather pace the room like a crazy person, stopping at the windows to look out at the skies over the trees. The cabin is in a huge clearing that leaves plenty of room for Angels to land in. Not having an _exact_ time to expect them is like an itch in his pants. He can’t sit down or he’ll just start squirming and getting all antsy and maybe he should dig his laptop out and do something on that instead of wearing a path in the floor. Or maybe he should actually try and _talk_ to Amelia. Though she seems more than happy to recline on the bed with a book.

When she stands up, Dean beelines for the windows thinking maybe she knows something that he doesn’t. He can’t see the whole sky and he doesn’t even know what direction they’re going to be coming from. Amelia doesn’t do anything other than put the kettle full of melted snow on the stove to let it heat up. She gets a container of tea out of the cupboard and makes herself a cup. Dean stops paying attention and goes right back to his pacing.

By the two hour mark that they’ve been there, Dean sits down. His left knee keeps bouncing and he’s taken to staring blankly at the wall, running through his head all the possible scenarios this meeting might take. He tries imagining all the questions that Raphael will ask him and he prepares a list of his answers. Most of them are the truth, some of them are half-truths, and none of them would accidentally reveal that he used to be an Angel hunter. If there’s anything that he knows about this meeting, it’s that he can’t even _slightly_ let them know what’s under the new tattoo on his chest.

The kettle starts whistling not more than five minutes before Dean hears snow crunching outside. He’s halfway to his feet when the door opens and Dean’s chest feels like it’s expanding to fill the whole room. Breathing is no longer an option and he grins so hard his face hurts because it’s _Cas_. Cas with his poncho, black feathers, ruffled hair and cold-pinked cheeks and nose. He’s wide-eyed and looking every bit as anxious as Dean feels. 

Cas glances around the room, looking at Amelia first. Then he sees Dean and the small smile that curves his mouth and warms his eyes kicks Dean’s pulse up a notch. He gets four steps before he’s got his arms full of Angel and wings wrapped tight around his back.

x

For near a month, Castiel throws himself into his training. He doesn’t want to think about how he can’t talk to Dean, and he certainly doesn’t want to think about what may or may not happen during the meeting with Raphael. Every thought is devoted to pushing himself harder and being as good as he can possibly be at every task given to him.

The worst part of it all is that Raphael never tells him _when_ the meeting is. Every day that he goes to bed, curling up alone in his nest, he wonders if the next day will be the one when he gets to see Dean again. Or maybe it will be the day that his phone is returned and he’ll be able to call him and just hear his voice. Or it might be the day that Raphael calls on him just to give him the news that he’s not going to be allowed to see Dean ever again.

Needless to say, his nights for that month are rarely restful. Often he stays up half the night talking with Balthazar. Silvanus left after the meeting with Raphael and now he and Balthazar spend as much time together as possible in between their training. It isn’t a whole lot of time, but at least Castiel doesn’t feel as lonely as he normally would and he really does enjoy having a friend again.

When it comes time to repaint his markings on his day off from training, Castiel tries very hard not to think about how he would like for Dean to be there. It would be nice to have Dean paint his markings again. He could sit in Castiel’s lap and there would be nothing tense or awkward about it like there was the last time Dean did it. Castiel could reach up and pull him down for a kiss, or slide his hands along Dean’s thighs and rest them on his hips. He could _touch_ and be touched in return and –

He hates thinking about it. The nervous twist behind his ribs makes him feel sick to his stomach when he thinks about how he doesn’t know when he’s going to see Dean again. Even then, what if it doesn’t go well? What if he isn’t allowed to have Dean in any way ever again? That terrifying, desperate part of him that never wants to let Dean go whispers words that he should leave the clan if it comes to that. But he can’t do that, can he?

It’s not something he wants to think about unless it comes to that and even then he probably won’t want to think about it. Dwelling on things like that only makes him worse and Balthazar’s complaints about his moodiness is, by far, the most annoying thing Castiel has to deal with right now. It’s better for everyone if he just doesn’t think about it. And he tries – oh, does he try.

Nearly a month has passed before a messenger calls Castiel out to the small plateau before the entrance to the main caverns. They tell him to dress for flight and Castiel quickly changes into his warrior outfit, pausing only to pull on his gloves and the poncho Dean gave him. It won’t obstruct his flight, but it will keep him slightly warmer.

Raphael is waiting with two soldiers, each carrying a pack that Castiel can only assume holds their winter clothing, and Anael. She was once one of his commanders until she was promoted to a new position. He doesn’t need to ask. Anael’s abilities have been honed to detect when someone is lying and there’s little surprise that Raphael would want her at this meeting. The only problem that Castiel can see is that she would have to use her powers on Dean and there is no doubt in his mind that Dean will object to it.

There is no needs for words. As soon as Castiel is there, Raphael turns and takes wing. Anael and the guards follow quickly behind him and Castiel glances back to say his goodbye to Balthazar. He catches up to them quickly enough, wings spread and beating the cold air. He can feel it seeping in under his clothes, but the exertion of flying should hopefully keep him a little warm as he flies.

With every wing beat, Castiel can feel something winding tight in his chest. He’s excited and nervous all at once and if this wasn’t such a serious moment, he would likely take to flipping and twisting through the air to relieve this pent of energy brewing in his bones. Castiel is going to get to see and talk to Dean again and he can only hope that everything will go well. He wishes that he’d taken the time to prepare Dean for something like this before they parted ways before.

They soar not far above the forest, skimming through valleys on their way to the area where the felanthe are located. Castiel has never been there himself, but he knows of their general location. He keeps his eyes locked on the ground ahead of them, looking for any sign of life. When he sees a thin, twisting plume of smoke, he climbs a little higher – high enough that he can see the shine of a black vehicle beside a dusky red one of a different shape.

Castiel recognizes the black car and before he knows it, he’s diving at an angle toward the clearing around the cabin. Raphael’s words are ripped away by the wind whistling in his ears. There is only one thought in his mind now and it’s completely devoted to the man he knows is in that house. His heartbeat is in his ears as he draws up sharply and lands in a flurry of snow, his wings kicking up the fresh powder.

He runs as quickly as he can in the snow, springing from the bank onto the cleared path. It was a lack of foresight that kept him from landing there, but Castiel doesn’t care. His focus is entirely on getting into the felanthe and seeing Dean again.

There is a woman standing in the kitchen when Castiel comes through the door, a kettle in her hand. She looks up in surprise and the flick of her eyes from him to the other corner of the room is all that Castiel needs to know where Dean is. He turns to find him just getting to his feet and the _smile_ that fills Dean’s face is nearly radiant. It’s happiness – pure and unadulterated and _because of him_.

Suddenly it’s very hard to breathe, but it’s in a good way. This is a good feeling, a _great_ feeling. Castiel can feel a smile of his own forming and he wastes no time in crossing the small space between them. Dean meets him halfway, his arms coming up around Castiel’s waist in a tight hug. He cradles Dean’s face between his palms and wraps him in his wings.

“Cas –” Dean breathes against his lips. It’s the only word Castiel allows him to say before he kisses him.

He kisses him again and again, murmuring Dean’s name between each kiss. One by one Castiel removes his mittens, tossing them aside to trace the curve of Dean’s jaw, the shell of his ears, and sink his fingers into the mess of his hair. His wings pull in tighter, pressing Dean closer against his front and he doesn’t care that Amelia is behind them or that Raphael will be here soon. Castiel’s very being is focused on getting as close as is physically possible to Dean to soak in his presence and breathe him in.

Dean’s hands are warm on his back, tucked under the poncho and fingers spread wide between his wings in the open space of his back. His fingertips dig in, as if he’s trying to pull Castiel closer too.

“Missed you, Cas.” He manages between kisses and Castiel can only hum his response.

How is he supposed to stop touching, or tasting, or feeling the heat rolling off Dean’s body and seeping through his clothes? Castiel doesn’t want to stop. He doesn’t want to ever let Dean go. Just the _sight_ of him was enough to make Castiel feel better than he has in weeks. His voice a balm to Castiel’s frayed nerves and his touch a relaxant that he so desperately needed.

“Castiel.”

He doesn’t want to let Dean go, but he does. Castiel draws away slowly, making sure that Dean knows how reluctant he is to do it. Dean’s unhappy frown shows much the same and his hands resist the motion just long enough for Castiel’s wings to fold naturally against his back again. He turns as he steps away, looking back at Raphael and Anael – the two soldiers that accompanied them have remained outside as guards.

Raphael looks less than pleased with Castiel’s indiscretion, his eyes narrowed at the both of them. Castiel doesn’t feel even the slightest regret for his actions. He missed Dean and Dean missed him. But despite that, he really shouldn’t throw all form of decorum out the window.

“Dean, this is Raphael, the Iaidon of my clan.” Castiel explains, putting a hand on his shoulder, applying slight pressure forward in the hopes that Dean will understand to bow. He does, though stiffly. “And this is Anael, the Laiad.” For Dean’s sake, he repeats the word slowly as he always does. “El-a-i-a-de. It means ‘the secret of truth’. She will be able to tell if you answer any of Raphael’s questions with a lie.”

Dean bows to her too and his smile is small, nervous. Castiel squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, hoping it will help to calm him.

Anael smiles gently and returns the bow in kind. “Please call me Anna. It’s a pleasure to finally meet Castiel’s Human. You’ve been much talked about among our clan since well before the announcement of your relationship with him.”

“The clan gossips worse than Humans.” Raphael mutters, brushing past them to sit at the table.

There are four chairs, two on either side of the table. Anael sits next to Raphael and Dean sits across from her, leaving the spot across from Raphael open for Castiel. No sooner are they all seated does the Human woman in the corner come over with a tray lined with clay cups and a teapot that Castiel recognizes as something made by one of the potters in the clan. She places it in the middle of the table and quickly retreats to the bed where she picks up a book.

Anael pours the tea for everyone, though Dean makes no motion to pick up his cup and Castiel isn’t sure he could stomach anything right now. They both sit in silence, waiting for Raphael to say something. All he does is sip his tea, staring steadily across the table at the both of them. Does he know that the moment Castiel sat down, Dean had taken his hand? Can he tell that their fingers are laced and their palms a pressed together in the space between their chairs?

Raphael puts his cup down carefully and his eyes focus on Dean. “Put your arm on the table.”

Without hesitation, Dean rests his left arm on the table, palm down. Anael takes his hand and turns it over, her fingers settling on the pulse in his wrist. Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand and shifts slightly in his seat, but he doesn’t say anything. Of course he doesn’t. He doesn’t know about Anael’s powers, or that she’s about to use them. With that thought comes the memory of Dean’s reaction to Castiel’s mere _suggestion_ of using his abilities on him. Castiel can’t let her do anything to Dean without him being fully aware of what is about to happen.

“Dean.” Castiel says softly, squeezing his hand. “Anna’s abilities lie in the body. She’s going to be –” He stops, trying to find the proper way to explain it. There’s no point in explaining that she can heal anyone far better than he can. “She will be threading her powers into your veins to sense any change in your heart rate if you lie.”

“You’re going to mess with my _blood_?” Dean hisses, jerking his arm out of her grasp.

He presses his arm to his chest and looks between them with wide eyes. Castiel can read the nervous fear behind them and he wishes there was something more he could say or do to help. Dean may not hunt Hamiaah anymore, but his whole life he’s been raised to fear them and their powers. His trust in them lies only with him. How is Castiel supposed to ask him to do this when it’s not only extremely invasive, but also plays directly into all the fears Dean has about Hamiaah.

“If you’re opposed to our methods, you’re welcome to say your final goodbye to Castiel now.” Raphael says calmly, if not a little smugly and Castiel barely stops himself from glaring at him.

Dean goes very still beside him and his grip on Castiel’s hand tightens almost painfully. He breathes heavily through his nose and clenches his jaw. The glare he directs at Raphael is dark and angry, but Castiel doesn’t fault him for it – even if it doesn’t help matters much in getting Raphael to like him. Castiel rubs his thumb along Dean’s, trying to do what he can to calm him. He won’t push Dean for this. If he doesn’t want to do this, it will hurt to know Dean’s choice, but Castiel understands.

Without taking his eyes of Raphael, Dean drops his arm back on the table. His hand is curled into a quivering fist and Anael looks down at it in surprise before she holds his wrist again. As soon as her fingers touch his skin, Dean’s whole arm starts to tremble and his breathing turns slightly erratic. He’s panicking. Castiel can see it, feel it, practically _taste_ it in the air.

When the glow starts under Anael’s white feathers, Dean sucks in a sharp breath and squeeze his eyes shut. He tilts his chin to his chest and hunches his shoulders, body taut with nerves. Castiel hates seeing him like this and he wishes there was something – anything he could do to help him. As much as it warms him that Dean is willing to face his fears to stay with him, Castiel doesn’t like this.

“Please calm down.” Anael says softly, a small frown pulling at her lips as she concentrates. “This won’t work if you’re not calm.”

“I’m _trying_.” He grunts between clenched teeth, but his shoulders shake slightly and his breathing doesn’t even out. It’s too fast and short.

Castiel is reminded of the last time he saw Dean like this, curled in on himself at the back of the cave while thunder and lightning split the sky. Just like then, Castiel spreads his wing and curves it around Dean’s shoulders. He shuffles his chair closer and puts his other hand on Dean’s arm. Almost immediately, Dean leans into him and his breathing turns slow and deep. The wrinkles between his eyebrows smooth out and he relaxes in increments.

He pulls his wing in tight, arching it to cover Dean’s head slightly too. If his wings and his presence give Dean even just a modicum of comfort, Castiel is more than willing to do it. Even if it has Anael staring at them with wide eyes and Raphael’s eyebrows are inching up his forehead. This would be considered an intimate moment back at the clan, but Castiel doesn’t care. Dean needs him to get through this and Castiel will give him all that he can.

Anael’s wings shuffle slightly against her back, the glow steady under her feathers. “We’re – He’s ready.”

“Good.” Raphael clears his throat and leans his elbows on the table as he sits forward. “Let’s get this over with.”


	38. Questions and Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean raises his eyebrow at her and glances to Cas. He squeezes Dean’s hand encouragingly and nods toward Anna like he’s saying go ahead. “Uh, okay. My middle name is Harold, I’m obsessed with Dr Sexy, I’ve flown in the TARDIS and I’ve seen the Star Wars movies forty-eight times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck _shit on a fucking stick._ A lie detector. Jesus on a flatbread, Dean did not expect Raphael to bring a goddamn _lie detector._ How the hell is he supposed to not tell them that he used to be an Angel hunter when he can’t lie? On the list of impossible things, that’s rocketed up to number one. The only good thing about this is that Cas is here too.

He’s sitting close and squeezing his hand tight. Cas even has his wing curled around Dean’s shoulders and it’s _great_. Everything about him is just beyond comforting. Hell, even the way he _smells_ is calming Dean down. He smells like crisp winter – makes sense, since he was just outside – and earth like he always does. It just – it helps. A lot.

It’s easier to focus on that than the weird tingling feeling in his wrist where Anna’s holding it. Even if she’s kind of pretty, that’s not nearly enough to him get over the fact that her Angel powers are literally _crawling in his blood_. Yeah, that’s freaking him out even more now. He needs to focus on Cas and Cas alone to get over all this.

Of course that’s not really going to help with the Raphael department.

Outwardly, Raphael doesn’t look all the scary. Fluffy white wings, but he’s calm on all levels of eerie. He’s calm and straight faced and just kind of radiating how much he doesn’t like Dean. Christ, it’s like Raphael hated him before they even talked on the phone. Well, maybe not exactly _hate_ – but at least a very strong dislike.

“We’re – He’s ready.” Anna says, her wings fluttering a little.

“Good.” Raphael leans forward and crosses his arms on the table. “Let’s get this over with.”

Dean couldn’t agree more. Heck yes he wants all this to be done and gone and hopefully with the best result possible. The clan’s approval means a lot to Cas but as long as Dean can see him again, and again, and again – he’s happy. So they need to start this before he actually does start to freak out about what Anna is doing.

Cas squeezes his hand and Dean glances at him with a small smile before he looks back at Raphael. “Yeah, let’s do this.”

Raphael knocks back the last of his tea and pours himself another one before he finally actually asks anything. That said, the first question kind of catches Dean by surprise. “Is your name Dean Winchester?”

He gapes for a moment before he looks at Cas – who looks just as confused as he does, then at Anna – who looks completely okay with everything, then back to Raphael. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Is your name Dean Winchester?” Raphael asks slowly and Dean can tell that he’s already frustrated and this is so not getting off to a good start.

Wait. Don’t most lie detector tests have quality control questions? Maybe that’s why he’s asking this stupid question. “Yes.” He waits a beat. “Hey, can I only have give yes or no answers?”

“Answer however you want.” Anna smiles softly, patting his wrist. “I can track at what point you start to lie. Say a few things that are a mix of lies and truth and I’ll be able to tell you which was false.”

Dean raises his eyebrow at her and glances to Cas. He squeezes Dean’s hand encouragingly and nods toward Anna like he’s saying go ahead. “Uh, okay. My middle name is Harold, I’m obsessed with Dr Sexy, I’ve flown in the TARDIS and I’ve seen the Star Wars movies forty-eight times.”

She smiles wider and her wings get all puffy like she’s pleased with herself. “False. True. False. False.”

“Eerily accurate. I’ve seen the movies fifty-three times.”

“True.”

Cas huffs quietly under his breath and Dean rubs his thumb along Cas’s finger. “Yeah, okay. I get the point. You don’t need the test questions. You want to get this over with? Get to the real questions.”

Raphael narrows his eyes and tilts his head slightly – which apparently isn’t just a Cas trait. “Fine. Do you know what Hamiamma are?”

Shit, didn’t Cas say something about how that’s supposed to be a secret? Crap. Crappity crap _crap_. He looks back at Cas and sees the tight-lipped look. Well, there’s no way he can lie with Anna holding his arm to the table. Goddamn.

“Yeah, I know what Hamiamma are.”

“Do you hunt them?” Raphael’s wings twitch slightly and Dean briefly wonders if he’s already managed to fuck this up on the second question.

“I haven’t actually fought any _demons_ , but I’ve taken care of a bunch of ghosts. And two vampires.” He shrugs and fights really hard to keep looking at Raphael. Eye contact is supposed to be a sign of strength, right? If he looks away, that might be seen as weakness and nope, he’s not going to be that. He’s going to _fight_ for Cas.

Except Raphael doesn’t say anything. He just stares at him and drinks more tea for a few tense, very quiet minutes. Cas’s wing keeps twitching against Dean’s shoulder and his hand is probably bruising because Cas is squeezing it _ridiculously_ hard. Is there something he knows that Dean doesn’t? Damn, he should really get Cas to teach him that mind-reading thing he sometimes does. It would be really awesome to know exactly what Cas was thinking right now.

Dean waits, and waits, and waits, and _finally_ Raphael opens his mouth and says something. The worst part is that he says the one question Dean _really_ didn’t want to hear.

“Are you a hamibaghie?”

Sweet fucking _Christ_. Screwed. They’re _screwed_. Boned. One hundred percent fucked in every way Dean does not like to be fucked. Shit. _Shit_. How the hell is he supposed to – oh. Wait. Technicality!

“No, I’m not.” Not anymore. Hah! Dean wins.

Anna’s wings twitch, spreading a little and she sucks in a sharp breath while Dean’s heart sinks. Can she sense a goddamn _technicality_? That’s – Jesus, that’s not fair. He only stops squeezing Cas’s hand when he can feel the bones actually grinding together and even if Cas isn’t saying anything, it probably hurts at least a little bit.

“His answer was truthful.” She says slowly, glancing at Raphael. “But his heart rate pitched up momentarily when the question was asked.”

The look Raphael gives him after is dark and Dean’s pretty sure he’s about to pee himself if he keeps glaring at him like that. No, this is not okay. What’s he going to say? What’s he going to _do_? Cas still isn’t saying anything and Dean had expected him to say _something_ – not that there’s really much to say at all, really. All the questions are for Dean and Anna isn’t checking any of Cas’s vitals.

“Take off your clothes.”

“That was _not_ what I was expecting.” And that was maybe not the best thing to say right off the bat.

Cas’s wings snap out and the only thing keeping Dean from jumping out of his seat because of it is Anna’s hold on his wrist. Seriously, she’s tiny but she’s got one _hell_ of a kung-fu grip. When Cas folds his wing in again, it’s snugged so tightly around Dean that it’s actually forcing him to lean closer. The grip on his hand is kind of pretty damn strong too.

It’s right around then that Dean realizes there is absolutely no way he can let Cas say anything to Raphael about the previously posed question. If Dean hasn’t already screwed up their chances, anything Cas says will probably _definitely_ fuck things up. Mostly because Dean knows for a fact that he’d be cussing Raphael before he’d even finished talking if their positions were reversed.

“ _Raphael_ –” Already that sounds really bad and that’s all Dean lets him get out.

“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean squeezes his hand even though his is kind of going a little numb. “It’s fine.”

“It’s _not_ fine.” Cas hisses and gives him a look that basically screams three things. The first: anger. The second: fear. The third: _are you fucking crazy_.

He smiles and carefully pulls his hand out of Cas’s grip. “No, really. I’ve got this covered.” Literally. This may not have been something he actually expected, but it’s been okay for pushing four weeks now. If Raphael is looking for the hunter’s mark, he’s not going to find it.

Having everyone, Amelia included (like she’s so subtle looking over the edge of her book), watch him undress one handed is kind of weird in a lot of ways. Dean starts with his flannel, pulling that off his arm with the help of his teeth since Cas is kind of sitting there struck dumb as a rock and staring at him. The flannel ends up hanging from his arm. Cas has to move his wing a bit for Dean to lean forward and grab the back of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head to let it hang from his left arm too. He can practically feel Cas cringe next to him.

Raphael stares at him evenly for a minute before asking his next question. “How many other tattoos do you have?”

“None. This is the only one I’ve got.” And there is absolutely nothing untrue about that. Please, please, please don’t let Anna pick up something from that.

But maybe he’s going about this all wrong. Raphael is suspicious of him and as long as he suspects Dean of being a hamibaghie, he’s never going to trust him. There’s always going to be those doubts and that could just make shit really fucking hard for him and Cas in the future. But really, what other way is there for Dean to do this? Well, there’s always that whole ‘honesty is the best policy’ bullshit.

Actually, wait. Honesty has gotten him everywhere with Cas after he put that to use. So maybe what Dean needs to do is be honest. Brutally honest. And tell the leader of a clan that he used to hunt and trap Angels and watch his dad kill them. Some of those Angels might have been from Raphael’s clan once upon a time – not that Dean remembers  any of the markings they had. Shit, what if he really _has_ helped hunt members of Cas’s clan? What if they were Angels that Cas _knew_? Fuck. Well, if that was going to be a problem between them, it would’ve come up before, right? Yeah, probably.

Anna looks up at Raphael and shakes her head. “True.”

Raphael doesn’t look happy with the answer and Cas grabs Dean’s shoulder, forcing him to turn to face him. Oh, right. Cas hasn’t seen the new tattoo yet. This wasn’t exactly the way that Dean wanted to show him, but he still cocks a small smile at the shocked look on Cas’s face. Cas reaches out and gently traces the edges of the star while his expression melts into something soft and warm and how bad of an idea would it be to kiss him in front of Raphael right now?

Probably a pretty bad idea. But Dean does lean into Cas’s hand just a little and tries not to smile like an idiot when Cas looks up at him and looks so fucking _happy._ Surprisingly, Raphael doesn’t interrupt them. He doesn’t say a damn thing until their little moment is over and they’re both sitting forward. They’re holding hands under the table again – which is, admittedly, right up there on the list of sappiest things Dean has ever done.

“Let’s move along.” Raphael says lowly, in the kind of way that makes Dean want to crawl under the table and hug Cas’s legs because that so doesn’t sound good. “What are you looking to get out of your relationship with Castiel?”

“I’m not looking to ‘ _get_ ’ anything out of it. Cas makes me happy and I like being happy.” Dean shrugs and squeezes Cas’s hand. He holds back on the urge to look at him because that really would be too much sap to handle.

“And if your relationship doesn’t work out?”

A tight, unhappy feeling curls up in Dean’s chest and he hates it. He’s thought about that more than once over the last month. Hell, he’s been thinking about it since he figured out how Cas feels for him. Who doesn’t think things like that when they start a relationship? Though theirs isn’t exactly the most conventional, Dean knows one thing for certain that he wants if they don’t work out like this.

Now the only problem with actually answering the question is, well, _answering the question_. Feelings talk. This isn’t exactly Dean’s forte and it doesn’t really help matters a whole lot when so much is riding on every single freaking word.

“I’d hope that Cas and me could still be friends.” Yes, good. Very good. There’s no way that could be misinterpreted or anything, could it? Okay, maybe it sort of could. Oh fuck, he’s going to have to say more, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. “Cas is my best friend and he’s been a big part of my life for the last year and I don’t want to lose him if I can help it.”

Inwardly, Dean is cringing. This is some grade A material he’d expect to hear from Sam. Not him. Or at least, not from him _out loud_. Hopefully his internal freak out is messing with Anna’s readings. She’s kind of squinting at him from across the table, but she’s not saying that he’s lying, so that’s got to mean something good, right?

“And if he doesn’t want to be your friend?”

Words like a knife to the chest. Jesus, Raphael really isn’t holding any punches, is he? Cas makes a little hissing noise and he squeezes Dean’s hand hard enough that Dean kind of hopes he means he’d want to stay friends if – for whatever reason – this isn’t as long term (wow, that’s scary) as Dean hopes it is.

“If Cas didn’t want to see me ever again, I’d respect his wishes. I’d hate it, but I’d respect it.”

Raphael leans forward on his elbows again, lifting his tea cup and turning it between his hands. “If your relationship ends and you’re slighted by it, would you seek revenge for it?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?” Dean fights to keep his voice from raising because _what_? “Revenge? For a break up? Fuck no. It wouldn’t be my first time on the horse. I’ve had more break ups than I can count and I’ve never once been inclined to _seek revenge_.”

Granted, he can’t remember feeling like _this_ in any of those relationships. But he still doesn’t think that he’d try and get back at Cas for anything, even if they did break up. The only event where he can see himself wreaking vengeance on anything is if someone attacked Cas and Dean lost him. There’s no way he wouldn’t get even about that and when he says that out loud, Raphael raises and eyebrow and Cas’s wing pulls in tighter around his shoulders.

Amelia gets up to take the teapot when Raphael holds it out. He doesn’t say anything until she’s back and poured him a new cup. The whole time they’re waiting, Raphael just keeps staring at Dean likes he’s trying to look through him. It’s the kind of stare that makes Dean think Raphael wants to take him apart piece by piece. Really though, all of this is probably just pissing him off. He’s the Iaidon. Raphael probably has all sorts of things he’d rather be doing instead of trying to figure out if Dean is trustworthy or not. Hell, he probably doesn’t even think any of this is worthwhile.

Which means Dean needs to _make_ it worth his while. Raphael needs to walk away from this thinking that having him be a part of Cas’s life is a good thing. And Dean knows just how to do that. He just wishes Raphael would stop with the fucking curveballs already. This guy changes topics more than Sam changes his skirts.

“When did you get your marking?”

A quick answer is the best answer, otherwise Dean’s going to start over thinking things and with this whole honesty thing he’s about to try, thinking might not be the best thing to do right now. “A week after we talked on the phone.”

“Where did you get it?”

Dean takes a deep breath and steels himself for this. He might very well die after giving his answer. “Cas designed it for me and painted it the last time we were together. I wanted to get it done permanently for sentimental reasons and to cover up my hunter’s mark since it makes us both uncomfortable.”

Three sets of wings flare out in surprise and even Amelia looks up from her book, mouth open. Cas digs his nails into Dean’s hand, and yeah. He’s probably not all that happy with him right now. Raphael makes Dean jump when he slams his hands down on the table and gets to his feet, spitting Enochian. He looks beyond unhappy and Dean is possibly on the verge of pissing himself. Wow, he really should’ve gone to the washroom before they all showed up.

Whatever Raphael is saying isn’t making Cas a happy bunny. He’s sitting on the edge of his seat, feet under him and knees bent like he’s ready to jump up the moment Raphael tries to make a move. And he’s pretty much crushing Dean’s hand while basically trying to envelope him in one wing. Which isn’t working out all that well since Anna doesn’t seem to be letting go of Dean’s arm any time soon.

Before Cas or Dean can say anything in their defense, Anna beats them to it. “Calm yourself, Iaidon.” She puts a hand on his shoulder and guides him to sit back down. “Don’t forget that Dean was truthful when he said he wasn’t a hamibaghie. Let them explain before you start spouting promises of death.”

“He was promising what now?” Dean’s not all that surprised, but he looks between all of them.

“I would not have let him.” Cas grinds out between his teeth and _hello_ inappropriate shiver. “The felanthe are places of peace. There will be no bloodshed here.”

Raphael bares his teeth and Dean half expects to see fangs. “You brought a _hamibaghie_ here, Castiel. This will not be so easily forgiven.”

“I’m _not_ a hamibaghie.” Dean cuts in, putting as much force into the words as he can. “Not anymore.”

And he doesn’t give Raphael, Anna, or even Cas the chance to interrupt. The whole story from what he did the moment Bobby gave him the location to check out and when he left Cas’s place the first time and realized he’d enjoyed hanging out with Cas and maybe there were some latent feelings of pity and guilt that sealed the deal on leaving the phone there so they could stay in touch.

“Being friends with Cas changed me. He’s made me a better person.” Dean continues, watching Raphael for any sign that he’s cooling down.

So far his wings have de-fluffed and he’s breathing a little steadier, but he’s still tight lipped and narrow-eyed and Dean doesn’t even know what his power is. Christ, what if is ability is to explode people’s heads with his mind? Oh, Dean did _not_ think this through. He didn’t think this through _at all_. Honesty is shit. Whoever thought of being honest can suck the business end of his tail pipe.

“Because of Cas, I’ve cut almost all the ties I have with the hamibaghie community.” Dean explains, and he keeps talking, sparing a glance at Cas to see that he’s still watching Raphael warily. “I’ve even managed to shut down their network by convincing the person running the whole thing to finally give it up and focus completely on monster hunting.”

That gets Raphael to sit back in his chair and un-narrow his eyes a little bit. It’s a step in the right direction, at least, and Dean can’t decide if it would be a good idea to shut up or keep talking. And since he’s never been good at making that decision, he keeps going. He tells Raphael about how Bobby is an old family friend, practically a second father, and how he knew about monster hunting long before Dean did. He’s switching his network over one hundred percent to hunting monsters and they’re working on setting up a library to help hunters all across the nation – maybe even the world.

He starts getting himself worked up when he gets onto the topic about how badly he wants to go out there and find every hamibaghie and convince them that what they’re doing is beyond every form of stupid Dean knows. If it were at all possible, he would try very, very hard to get them to give it up entirely and put all their hunting skills into finding Hamiamma and taking those bastards down instead.

Dean shuts up the moment Raphael lifts his hand, even if it is just to reach for his tea. He drains the whole thing and pours himself a new cup. Raphael takes a deep breath, pins Dean with a look that _really_ makes him wish he’d hit the bathroom first, and finally asks a question. “Have you ever killed a Hamiaah?”

“Never myself, but I’ve seen my dad do it several times. He was my hunting partner before we split up when he decided I could take Cas’s hunt on my own.”

“Why did you hunt us?”

This sounds like it might be a rapid fire round now and Dean can totally do this. He’s got the answers and all he has to do is give them. “My dad was convinced that Angels were behind my mom’s death when I was four. He raised me believing you guys killed her and that hunting down whichever one of you did it was the only way she was going to ever rest in peace.”

“Have you found the one who did it?”

“No one ever spoke English to us. Cas was the first and that’s one of the first reasons I didn’t kill him. Since then he’s convinced me that it was more likely Hamiamma that caused the tornado storm that killed my mom.”

Raphael sits forward again and he only does that when he’s got _really_ important questions. “Who knows about you and Castiel?”

“My brother, his girlfriend and Bobby. They’re the only ones who know Cas is an Angel and I trust them with my life. I never would have told any of them about him if I didn’t think they couldn’t keep a secret.” He squeezes Cas’s hand and gets another tight squeeze in return.

“If I allow this and you come here to visit Castiel, what if another hamibaghie tracks you here?”

Dean shakes his head. “No hamibaghie even knows about me and Cas. It’s a long drive up here and I’d notice if anyone was following me long before I would get anywhere near here.”

“Would you kill a Human – a hamibaghie – to protect our clan?”

“I can’t answer that.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “Whether I could do it or not would depend entirely on the situation.”

“What kind of situation?” Raphael tilts his head. “The kind that puts Castiel in danger? Would you kill one of your own to protect him?”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Cas can take care of himself. He’s badass, if you haven’t noticed. But, again, it all depends on the situation. Short answer – yeah, I probably would.” He glances at Cas to see his reaction to that. Cas doesn’t move and he hasn’t taken his eyes off Raphael, but he squeezes Dean’s hand harder and his wing pulls tight against his shoulder.

Raphael drums his fingers on the table, a calculating look in his eyes. Dean figures he’s probably trying to find the questions that back him into a corner, the ones that he’ll lie for. “Do you know anyone that would be considered a threat to our clan?”

Too bad for him there aren’t any questions he won’t lie about right now. Brutal honesty, that’s his game. “Your clan? No. I don’t know anyone who’s a direct threat to it right now. But the clan in the south? That’s a different story. My dad has been off the radar since I went solo. It’s been months since I heard from him or about him and the day I got back to Bobby’s, I found out he’s out of the country and heading south. He’s tracking a group of Angels and if they’re not careful, they might lead him straight to the southern clan.”

That definitely gets Raphael’s attention. Dean feels a lot like he’s betraying his dad here and it’s a sour feeling in his stomach. But he’s got to get Raphael’s trust and it’s not like they’re going to kill John, right? Raphael will probably just send word south and hope that group either covers their tracks better or takes a different route until they can lose him.

Either way, his dad isn’t stupid. John won’t try and take on a clan all on his own. He’ll mark the location down and get reinforcements. Shit, he’d probably call in every hunter than he knows – and he knows a lot of them. They all have various weapons at their disposal and Dean wouldn’t doubt that somehow his dad would be able to get his hands on a fucking _bomb_. Hell, he could probably build one himself.

Get a couple bombs into the middle of a clan and there’d be chaos. It would probably scatter the clan and then it’s just a matter of trapping them and taking them out before any of the Angels could use their powers. And if John puts the word out that he’s found a clan and needs help taking it down, who knows who’d hear that. It’s entirely possible that a Hamiamma would catch wind of it and – no. Dean can’t let his dad play a part in the war like that. He just _can’t_.

Raphael keeps tapping his fingers on the table and Dean’s starting to get the feeling that he’s antsy and doesn’t want to be here anymore – if he ever did. Either it’s that or he’s trying to think of a good way to kill him that Cas won’t be able to get in the way of.

“Do you have alternative plans for the clan?”

What the hell? Dean raises an eyebrow. “No. I have absolutely zero plans for your clan.”

“Do you harbor ill will against us?”

Again, what the hell? “Aside from how you’ve all been assholes to Cas, no I don’t.” Dean takes a deep breath and he sits forward too, ignoring how Cas squeezes his hand in warning. “Let me sum it up for you – all I care about here is Cas. I want to see Cas and be with Cas and I couldn’t care less about the rest of you. The only reason I give _any_ sort of shit about you guys is because, out of some fucked up sense of loyalty, Cas actually cares about you guys.”

x

Castiel can’t decide if he’s furious, horrified, or in awe of Dean’s apparently lack of respect for Raphael. He’s being polite, certainly, but he’s also being so very _Human_. No one in the clan would ever think of speaking to Raphael the way Dean is now.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting of this meeting, but it was certainly not this. Honestly, Castiel is surprised that either one of them is still alive after Dean went and outright told them that he had been a hamibaghie. Castiel nearly had heart failure when Raphael had point blank asked if Dean was a hunter of Hamiaah. He’d been surprised when Anna deemed Dean’s answer truthful, and then he’d wanted to _destroy_ Raphael when he’d asked for Dean to remove his clothing.

Not only had Raphael requested something all too _rude_ , but it was requested of _Dean_. Castiel’s first thought had been about the hunter’s mark. Surely the star he had painted over it would have faded by then. It would have shown that Dean was definitely a hamibaghie and, as Iaidon, Raphael would most certainly have known what a hunter’s mark looked like. But then he’d nearly been blinded by anger. How _dare_ Raphael ask Dean – Castiel’s _mate_ – to remove his clothing? If anyone was to have asked Dean to do that, it should have been Castiel. 

And then there was the mark. _Castiel’s mark_. It was stark and black against Dean’s skin, thick and thin lines coming together to form the star and its shining light. Castiel had barely been able to breathe when he’d seen it. His micaloz had marked himself with it _permanently_. First Dean had asked for Castiel’s feathers, and now he’d tattooed himself with a design Castiel had painted on him. It’s almost too much to bear and Castiel is caught between being deliriously happy and being terrified of Raphael’s answer now that he knows what lies under that star.

Raphael stares at Dean after his last question. He makes a sharp gesture with his hand and Anael lets go of Dean’s wrist, sitting back in her chair and relaxing as the glow fades from under her feathers. Instead of relaxing, Dean goes tense under Castiel’s wing, glancing at him worriedly. He can read the question in Dean’s eyes. Is Raphael done?

It seems so. Anna and Raphael lean together, speaking in heated whispers. Castiel catches a few words in Enochian, but he doesn’t know what they’re talking about. He can hazard a guess, but there’s little point in worrying about it right now. If Raphael’s mind isn’t already made up, there is very few things Anael will be able to say that will change it.

Dean shifts on his chair and lets go of Castiel’s hand to completely remove his shirts, pulling them apart in his lap. Castiel grabs his arm before he can start putting them on. If he wants another moment of closer inspection of that marking, he’ll have to take it now before Raphael says anything that will keep him from getting to ever touch it – touch _Dean_ – again.

Without needing much urging, Dean turns around in his chair to face him and their knees bump in the small space between their chairs. Castiel brings up his other wing, carefully maneuvering it between them and the table to fold it around Dean’s too. It shields them both from everyone’s eyes and allows Castiel to relax slightly. He won’t be able to completely relax until Dean is fully clothed and Raphael has given his blessing – if he ever does.

It’s a very intimate gesture to be hiding Dean in his wings like this, especially in front of other Hamiaah. Castiel can hear Anna and Raphael stop talking for a moment. Dean simply looks confused, as if he’s not entirely certain why Castiel is doing what he’s doing. He doesn’t feel like explaining it to him and if Dean still has questions for him afterward, and if they have the time to say anything, he will tell him then.

Even still, Castiel doesn’t know what he would say. He wants to tell Dean so many things, but he can bring anything to voice. All he can do is reach out and touch the star again. It’s beautiful on Dean’s skin, though it covers quite a few of the scattered freckles on his chest and collar bone. Castiel wants to know if a permanent mark would change the taste of Dean’s skin, or if Dean is more sensitive there than he was before. How has it changed him?

Dean covers his hand without warning, pressing his palm flat against the star. He leans in and whispers softly. “Sorry.”

Castiel shakes his head and gives him a small smile. He doesn’t know what Dean is apologizing for. There are so many things, and at the same time, so few. None of this is Dean’s fault, really. Castiel is the one who hid from the clan that Dean had been a hamibaghie. He’d even lied to them out of selfishness, because he simply didn’t want to give Dean up. After nearly a year, he doesn’t want to imagine going back to his old life without Dean.

Slowly, Castiel helps Dean put his shirts back on. Dean looks surprised when he picks up the first shirt, watching him turn it over in his hands. There’s no design on any sides of the shirt and Castiel can’t decide if it matters which side is the front. Smiling, Dean covers his hands and turns the shirt over for him. Castiel holds it while Dean puts his arms in and he helps pull it over Dean’s head, guiding it to fall down around his chest properly. He helps him put on the other shirt too and Dean grin when they’re done is wide and warm. Castiel wants to taste it. He wants to press kisses to Dean’s lips and be as close to him as he can again.

Raphael clears his throat and they pull apart in surprise. Castiel’s wing thumps painfully against the table, jarring it hard enough that the empty cups fall over. Raphael is the only one who has had anything to drink and he carefully lays his hand over his cup to keep it still. His wings fold up tight against his back as he and Dean turn to face the others again. Immediately, Dean reaches for Castiel’s hand and threads their fingers together.

There is nothing that Castiel can read in Raphael’s stony expression as he pours himself more tea. Anael is equally unreadable, though she glances repeatedly between Castiel and Dean; her hands folded primly on the table in front of her. Raphael says nothing until he’s finished drinking. Castiel wonders, briefly, what kind of tea it is. He hopes it’s one with a calming effect to it.

This is it. Raphael is going to give his judgment. Castiel can feel it and the tight knot behind his ribs grows even tighter. It’s stifling his breath and he squeezes Dean’s hand as hard as Dean is holding his. Maybe Dean can sense it too.

“Anael has informed me that you –” Raphael looks pointedly at Dean. “– have been absolutely truthful in everything. She has sensed no deception in you, though time will tell on that matter.”

Castiel sits a little straighter and forces his feathers to keep from fluffing. He does nothing to stop the little white snowdrops that grow around his chair. They’re out of sight from Raphael. His wording gives Castiel hope. Why bother mentioning further time if he has no intention of letting Dean be around Castiel or the clan anymore? Could this be Raphael’s answer? Do they have his blessing to continue their relationship? Even Dean is sitting forward, eyes wide and his face is filled with hope when they share a quick glance between them.

Raphael is still looking hard at Dean, eyebrows pinched together in a frown. “We are going to be very careful where you are concerned, Dean Winchester. As a former hamibaghie, you must earn our trust like you have earned Castiel’s. The only reason I’m going to allow this to continue is because of your past ties. Your connections to the hamibaghie and the hunter communities will be a benefit to us.”

That tight knot in Castiel’s chest releases and with it flows his powers. They spiral out of his control and purple delphinium grow in thick patches around them, interspersed with white gardenia. He doesn’t care if Raphael and Anna sees these. It’s shameful not to keep his powers in tight control in front of a former commanding officer and his Iaidon, but Castiel is too happy to care.

Raphael gives him a disapproving glare before he looks back to Dean. “There is every possibility that I will contact you with assignments. If I do so, you are to carry them out as if you were a part of the clan. Am I understood?”

“Sure.” Dean shrugs and shares a hopeful look with him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with Cas.”

“Good.” He folds his hand together on the table and leans forward, pinning Dean with another narrow-eyed squint. “The council and likely most of the clan isn’t going to support this decision. _I_ barely approve of it. But this is a time of war and we need all the help that we can get. A hamibaghie – former or not – has deeper roots in the Human world where Hamiamma go and we cannot. Prove yourself now and maybe, one day, we’ll approve.”

Dean shifts in his seat and squeezes Cas’s hand. “So, does this mean Cas and I can stay together?”

Raphael rolls his eyes and Anael smothers a smile. “Yes, it does.”

More of the flowers bloom around them at the direct answer, but there’s one question Castiel _needs_ to ask. “When and where will I be able to see Dean?”

“Between your assignments and here. You’ll be easier to call back to the clan if we have need of you before your visiting time is over. The length of each visit will be determined by myself and the time between your assignments.” Raphael’s cold look turns to him. “You will not, under any circumstances, tell Dean where our clan is located.”

Castiel nods. He never intended to reveal the information without Raphael’s express permission even before this meeting. There’s one more question sitting on his tongue, but Dean asks it before he can.

“What about the phone?” Dean quickly gets up from the table and crosses the room to coat hanging next to the door. He comes back with the familiar bag that Castiel actually misses having at his hip. “Amelia gave it back and said it’s clean and everything. Can Cas have it back? Are you going to limit how often he’s allowed to call me?”

Raphael glances over his shoulder at the woman still pretending to be reading her book on the bed. She raises her hand, all her fingers folded save for her thumb. He huffs and turns back to them. “You may have the phone back. But your calls are to be limited to when they won’t interfere with your assignments. If I get any word from your deployments that you’re shirking your duties to call your Human, I will impose further limits on your communication.”

“I understand.” Castiel nods and accepts the bag from Dean. He carefully ties it under the poncho at his hip. It’s nice to have it back. The familiar weight is a comfort to him, and serves as reminder that he isn’t alone anymore.

When Raphael stands, Anael does to and Dean only gets up when Castiel does. His stomach sinks when he realizes that it’s time to go. Raphael downs the last of his tea and places the cup on the tray next to the pot. “I’ve been away from the clan for too long. We’re going now.” It’s an abrupt ending to the meeting, but it’s a very Raphael thing to do.

Castiel drags his heels as he picks up his mittens and follows them out the door. He glances back to find Amelia already cleaning the table of their dishware and Dean is grabbing his coat off the hook. Dean pulls it on and follows them out into the crisp winter air. Castiel wonders if Raphael will give them a few minutes to say their goodbyes. It’s a pity that Dean came so far and they only got to see each other for such a small amount of time. They weren’t even able to be alone for any of it.

Raphael stops part way down the path and stretches his wings. The guards are just ahead of him, removing their heavier winter wear to fold away into the bags they’ll carry. It’s almost impossible to fly in a mabza. Anael stretches her wings too, reaching her hands to the sky as she bows her back. Hamiaah prefer being outdoors, even in the winter.

Dean grabs Castiel’s arm, ducking around the stretch of his wings. “Cas –”

“Castiel.” Raphael interrupts and they both look at him. He doesn’t even bother looking at them as he speaks Enochian over his shoulder. “Three days from tomorrow. I expect you back by the evening. Your training is complete and the first assignment I have for your garrison will start the day after.”

For a moment, Castiel is dumbfounded. Does this mean he can stay? Is he really being allowed more days with Dean? He doesn’t get the chance to ask anything. Raphael takes wing almost immediately and the guards follow suite, climbing into the sky as they flap across the clearing.

Anael turns around and lifts her hand in wave. “It was nice meeting you, Dean. Enjoy your visit, Castiel.” They both manage a small wave in return before she takes off sprinting down the path, wings spreading and beating the powdery snow up in puffs around her.

Dean continues holding Castiel’s arm and they stay watching the others until they’re specks in the sky. When they look at each other, Dean’s eyebrows are halfway up his forehead and he’s caught between looking surprised and confused. “What the hell just happened?”

Castiel can only smile and he folds his wings around Dean, pulling him in for a tight hug. “If you don’t have to leave, I’ve been granted a three day visit.”

“Thank fuck.” Dean whispers against his neck, hugging back just as hard. “I thought he was going to make you leave with them and I – Yeah, this is good.”

“Hey boys!” Amelia’s call pulls them apart a few minutes later – it was nice to simply get to hold Dean again. They turn to find her standing outside, her coat on. She gestures back at the felanthe. “You’ve got enough food to last you a few days and anything extra you should bring back to town with you. I want to get back before it’s dark, so I’m heading out now.” She starts down the short path to where the vehicles are parked. “If you need help getting back to town in a few days, give me a call.”

“Hey, thanks!” Dean calls after her and then he gives Castiel a helpless look. “How the hell did she know to bring food? Did Raphael already have an answer before you guys came out here?”

“Perhaps she was simply prepared for any occasion. I’m told that it is a good idea for Humans to be thoroughly prepared when living in the mountains.” Castiel shrugs and watches Amelia climb into her vehicle. “If it had snowed today, we all might have stayed here until the conditions were safe for you to travel in.”

Dean shrugs and leans against his side, an arm slung loosely over Castiel’s shoulder. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

They remain standing outside until Amelia has driven out of sight, her big vehicle rumbling out of the clearing and disappearing on the road between the trees. Dean is the one who shivers and takes Castiel’s hand, guiding him back to the felanthe and its warm interior. Castiel feels like he’s floundering a little, shocked by how quickly the meeting ended. It’s only been a few minutes and already they’re alone together. It feels surreal – almost as if this might be a dream.

He looks at Dean as he hangs up his coat and the poncho he took from Castiel. The bright smile Dean gives him when he turns to find Castiel watching warms him on the inside too. Castiel can’t help returning it and he pulls Dean to him with a laugh. Even if this is a dream, it is a good one. He has Dean with him now and Raphael has given his blessing – regardless of how reluctant he’d been to give it.

Castiel kisses the smile like he’s wanted to during every instance Dean gave him during the meeting. He tastes those lips and tongue again and it’s familiar and calming. Dean laughs into the kisses and takes a few steps away, drawing Castiel with him. They stop when Dean’s back bumps the door and he can lean against it, his arms threading around Castiel’s shoulders like his fingers do in his hair. Castiel’s hands land firmly on Dean’s hips, holding him in place before he decides to move again.

“Missed you, Cas.” Dean murmurs between the kisses.

For the first time in too long a time, Castiel feels _happy_. “I missed you too, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's flowers...
>
>> \- Snowdrop: hope  
> \- Delphinium: levity, joy  
> \- Gardenia: joy


	39. Like Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You ever gonna stop kissing my tat and start kissing me?” Dean asks quietly, tugging lightly at his hair. “I’m getting kinda lonely up here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

There’s probably something really wrong with the fact that Dean can’t remember being this happy. Okay, no, he _can_ remember being this happy. But he means more about being this happy _away_ from Cas. Since literally nothing will ever top when Cas realized he was allowed to kiss him and did. Or that moment when Cas outright said he loved him. Yeah, those were pretty damn good and they’re definite rivals for this moment right now because not only is _Dean_ really happy, but Cas is too.

Cas keeps smiling and laughing into the kisses whenever they remember to do those. Dean’s more focused on just feeling him, making sure he’s real and that all this isn’t just some weird dream. It sure feels like a dream. Three days together _and_ Raphael’s sorta-blessing? Yeah, definitely a dream. But so far Dean’s tracked most of Cas’s back, his sides, his arms, chest and neck, and he’s feeling pretty damn real. Right, because this _is_ real. He buries his fingers in Cas’s hair and laughs with him, their foreheads resting together.

It takes him a few minutes and one pee break later to realize that Cas’s laughter was _relief_. This revelation comes to him while he’s washing his hands and staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He knew the meeting was stressful on Cas too, but he definitely stood to lose way more than Dean did if they didn’t get the answer they wanted. Cas would’ve lost Dean and shit could’ve gotten so much worse for him in the clan. If he wasn’t banished or killed for it, Cas would’ve probably left the clan again. He would’ve been _alone_ again – and that thought twists behind Dean’s ribs like a knife.

He turns away from the mirror and  looks around the small bathroom, trying to distract himself from thinking about what it must have been like for Cas for the last fifty years. Every time he thinks about that, he gets queasy and it makes his chest hurt.

The bathroom is a square little room with a small bathtub taking up half of it and a sink and toilet filling the other half. The tub is barely big enough for two people, let alone one with wings. Dean is maybe a little disappointed by that. The tub wouldn’t do much good for a bath. It looks like its primary purpose is shower only. It would’ve been nice to shower with Cas. Sure, sponge baths are nice, but there’s a special je-ne-sais-quoi about standing pressed together under a spray of water.

Wait. They went on a walk to a waterfall once, didn’t they? Yeah, they totally did. They’re so going to have to look into that when Cas is finally allowed to go back home. Nothing distracts him better than thinking about Cas all slippery and naked.

Successfully distracted, Dean leaves the bathroom and finds Cas in the kitchen. He’s going through all the cupboards, opening and closing doors and checking in drawers. Dean watches him as he crouches and opens a cupboard to pull a can out.

“What’s this?” He asks, not even looking up to acknowledge that Dean’s there.

“Chicken noodle soup.” Dean laughs, crossing over to take the can from him. “Canned soup.”

Cas crinkles his nose and stands up. “These cupboards are full of grains, spices and everything you need to make something. There’s meat and vegetables in the icebox. Why would you have your food pre-made and _canned_. It would taste like metal.” He takes the can back and shoves it in the cupboard, slamming the door. “We’re not eating any of that.”

Dean snorts a laugh and pulls Cas into a hug, dropping a kiss to his cheek. He probably shouldn’t find Cas snubbing canned food as endearing as he does, but he can’t help it. “That’s fine. I missed your cooking.”

One of his wings folds around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him up close against Cas’s side. “Then I’ll make something good for supper.” He turns into Dean and his other wing curves forward too, wrapping him up completely. “You just pull a chair over. Sit and tell me everything about your month. Tell me what you did.”

“What, you don’t want to talk about the meeting?” He murmurs, leaning into Cas and resting his cheek on his shoulder.

To be honest, the last thing he wants to do is talking about the meeting. There’s too many worries kicking around in his head about everything they talked about that he’d rather save any talking for later. Right now he just wants to enjoy being with Cas again instead of thinking about how Raphael didn’t question him about his loyalties to his dad. Or about how badly Bobby and Sam are going to chew him out for everything he said and did during the meeting. Of course he doesn’t _have_ to tell them about it, but they’re going to be all over him for information.

 “Maybe later.” Cas shrugs and slides his hands over Dean’s hips and up his back. They always linger around his shoulder blades, as if he’s fascinated by the lack of wings. “I need to think about it more.”

“Yeah, same.” Dean lifts his head to rest his chin on Cas’s shoulder instead, looking at the wood stove and wondering which cupboard has all the pots and pans in it. “I’m still trying to figure out if it went well or not. Sure, we got the answer we wanted – but who knows if anything I said is going to come back and bite us in the ass. And what the hell kind of missions is he gonna give me?”

“Exactly what I need to think about.” He murmurs, tilting to lean his head against Dean’s. “I’m trying to predict what Raphael might do or ways he could use what you said against you. As for what he’ll have you do, it will likely be scoping out potential Hamiamma. But I don’t want to talk about that right now.” Cas’s hands drop to Dean’s hips again to hold him in place as he steps back. “Sit and tell me about how your month was.”

Dean kind of hates when his wings drag along his arms before they fold up against Cas’s back. He really likes that kind of satisfying _safe_ feeling he gets when they’re around him. It’s like an extra personal hug – one person, double the hugging. Yeah, he definitely loves it. Loves the hugs, the wings, and Cas. Which is why he draws him back in for another hug and a hard kiss that leaves only ends because Cas gets his hands in Dean’s hair to keep him from leaning after him again when he steps away.

He gives Dean an amused smile. “It will take time to prepare dinner and the afternoon is already gone. If you want to eat tonight, you’re going to need to let me cook.”

“Fine, fine. But I’m not sitting on the sidelines. I’m _helping_.” Dean turns away to throw open the cupboards at the jars full of things that look a hell of a lot like everything Cas keeps at home. It would make sense if this place was stocked by both Hamiaah and Humans. “What are we gonna have?”

Cas puts him in charge of chopping veggies and meat while he makes a broth to cook some rice in while he makes a sauce for everything else. As they work, Dean tells him about hanging around and working with Bobby between hunting and his visit to Sam – including the camera they got him for his birthday. The only thing he doesn’t tell Cas about is the picture book that Sam and Jess put together. He’ll save that for their last day together. It’ll be a nice surprise for Cas when he’s feeling bummed.

He pulls the camera out while Cas is dealing with the sauce, adding the veggies and meat to cook in it. The whole thing smells kinda like curry and Dean’s mouth is watering anticipating how good everything is going to taste. Cas looks over his shoulder at him when Dean snaps off a few pictures. He rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove until Dean calls him over to take some pictures of them together with the camera set on the table with a timer. Half of them end up with Cas being an asshole and hiding them both with his wings before he poses for a proper picture – one of which Dean makes sure is a doubled-up hug and at least one of them is a kiss.

“Why aren’t memories enough?” Cas asks when he returns to the stove. “Why do you need pictures?”

“You’d understand if you had some of your own.” Dean grins, glancing up from flicking through the previews on the screen to watch Cas’s wings puff up. He hit the nail on the head with that one – either Cas doesn’t like not understanding something, or he’s jealous that he doesn’t have pictures either. He decides to keep the ones with Cas being a dumbass. They’ll be nice to add to the book later.

Cas huffs and turns the conversation back to talking about the last month. Dean lets him – otherwise he might accidentally say something about the pictures and give away the surprise.

“I didn’t even know when your birthday was.”

“I thought you said that Hamiaah don’t celebrate birthdays.” He crouches to put the camera back in his bag. “And you don’t count days the same we do. I could get you a pocket calendar if you want to keep track of the days to know for next year. Or so you know what days I think are important.”

“What other days are there?” Cas asks, getting the plates out of the cupboards.

Dean gets the utensils and a few cups, filling them with water from one of the bottles in the icebox. “Well there’s New Year’s Day. Valentine’s Day. Easter. Halloween. Christmas. Stuff like that.” At Cas’s confused look, Dean launches into an explanation of the ones Cas doesn’t know.

He talks through dinner and sweet _Jesus_ it is delicious and he has no idea why Cas hasn’t made it before. Dean goes back for seconds, and thirds, and Cas looks ridiculously pleased with himself for it, even when it’s his turn to talk about his month. Apparently, for Cas, it was beyond boring. All work and no play just so he’d be too tired to worry about whether or not he’d ever be able to see him again.

That pulls at something inside Dean and he pins Cas’s bare ankle between his, pushing his pant leg up with his foot to rub his calf just so he’s got some kind of physical contact going. They should’ve sat side by side for dinner if he wanted to touch Cas, but it’s nice to actually _look_ at him while they talk and straight ahead works best for that.

Cas’s wings twitch, feathers spreading and making them get all puffy with every rub of Dean’s foot against his. He does eventually, shyly, return the touch. He’s barefoot and his toes are a little cold when he pokes them up under the cuff of Dean’s jeans to push up over his socks. Playing footsie with Cas is fun. He hasn’t really _gone out_ enough to do it since he was a teenager trying to fumble his way through dates. And sure, he and Cas don’t actually go on _dates_ , but every time they do have dinner in a hell of a different way than he has in past ‘relationships’.

Clean up after dinner goes fast. They’ve lost the sunlight through the windows and the fire in the middle of the room is the only thing they’re seeing by. Dean thought there’d be electricity or something here, but aside from a few kerosene lamps he found in the cupboard, there’s nothing else to light the place with. He’d probably be bothered by the lack of electricity if he wasn’t so used to Cas’s place and its lack of proper walls to start with. Having Cas with him here only helps actually. Even Cas’s place has running water, just like here – though it sure as hell isn’t as fresh as Cas’s water.

Dean puts the last of the dishes away and turns around to look around the cabin. “I like your place better. It feels more like a home.” The cabin is a house like Dean knows them, but it’s so impersonal and sterile. There’s nothing that makes it more than a building with a bed – even with Cas here it doesn’t feel like more than just a temporary place.

“Me too.” Cas turns around too, drying his hands on the front of his shirt. “You can tell it was designed by a human.”

“Oh?”

“Dead trees.” He explains, gesturing at the walls. “A Hamiaah would have had a mirlonsa like myself grow a residence instead of this. But we very rarely stay here for longer than a meeting. I don’t know of anyone in the clan who has stayed overnight in one of these.”

That’s a good point. Dean hadn’t thought about it like that. He looks around at the bare walls and frowns. “Yeah, I still like your place better.”

Cas glances at him, eyebrow raised. When Dean looks back at him, a small smile is lifting one side of his mouth. Dean answers with a raised eyebrows of his own and Cas just shakes his head and steps away from the counter, walking out toward the middle of the room and the main fire. He thinks about asking what he’s doing, but he stops with his mouth open when the light grows under Cas’s feathers. Instead, he holds his breath, watching what Cas is about to do.

It starts with moss, spreading thick up the walls with creeping ivy. It grows along the ceiling too, vines looping and hanging in seemingly random batches. Cas controls the growth of each and every one of them, arranging them artfully that Dean doesn’t even notice at first. Bunches of flowers blossom in patches along the vines and the room immediately smells more _fresh_. It hits Dean like a sucker punch to the gut because it smells like _home_.

“Impressive!” He whistles, coming up behind Cas to run his hand over his wings while there’s still a glow in them. Dean glances around, looking at everything. There’s only one thing he can see that’s missing and he sifts his fingers through Cas’s feather fondly. “What, no nest?”

A wing flaps against his hand and Cas gives him a weak glare over his shoulder before he looks at the back of the room and the bed. He goes around the fire to it, measuring the mattress with his hands and looking up at the ceiling. Dean watches while Cas grows vines – a whole hell of a lot thicker than the others. These he actually controls like weird snakes, guiding them to crisscross and weave together into a net before they connect back to the ceiling.

Cas wavers a little when he’s done and Dean puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him from falling over. After a minute, Cas pats his hand and gestures at the mattress. “Help me with this.”

With a little maneuvering they manage to get the mattress moved onto the vines. It swings a little, but it holds up well enough once it’s in place. Dean sits on the edge, bouncing in place a little to see if it holds up. The vines don’t even creak and it only swings a little, bumping back against the wall. Cas drops down next to him. He turns, flopping over onto side and drawing his legs up onto the bed too. He’s gotta be tired now and Dean falls back, staring at the ceiling and where all the vines sink into the ceiling.

The silence between them is just begging for him to crack a joke. “This can’t be safe for sex.”

A wing flops over him with a lot less grace than usual and Cas huffs a little laugh, his hand finding Dean’s over the blanket between them. “We’ll just have to put that to the test later.”

Dean can’t helps it, he laughs. It starts with a surprised snort and then he starts laughing hard enough he ends up on his side facing Cas, his stomach aching. Cas has a self satisfied smirk on his lips and there’s so much _warmth_ in his eyes that Dean feels like it’s going to incinerate him just from looking at it. How can he look at that and not want to kiss it?

He slides across the blanket to kiss Cas softly, catching his bottom lip lightly between his. Dean breathes him in, squeezing Cas’s hand in his. “Shit.” He whispers without really meaning to. “I missed you, Cas.”

Cas smiles against his lips and lifts his wing over their heads where his feathers tickle Dean’s cheek. “I know, Dean. I missed you too.”

He leans into the slow kisses, tilting his head back when Dean starts mouthing away from his lips to follow the line under his chin. Dean’s not aiming for anything specific, he just wants to taste him – mouth, breath, skin, _everything_. He just wants to ground himself in Cas being real and here, that the meeting today happened and was real and they can keep doing this between missions.

All of Cas’s markings are new – painted at some point in the last few days and Dean wants to track each and every one of them with his tongue. Even the ones on his feet. In contrast to his markings though, Cas’s wings could use an oiling. Dean’s got a hand in his feathers and they feel fine – not as good as they _should_ but he’s probably got a little under a week before he’d need to oil them. And that – well that would just be the best excuse to touch Cas’s wings again. Not that he really needs one, but Cas gets all melty and happy when Dean grooms his wings – and Dean likes seeing him like that.

The neckline of Cas’s shirt keeps Dean from following his marks any lower. He follows the warrior mark back up again, propping himself up on an elbow so he can get to Cas’s ear. Cas muffles a small noise in the back of his throat and rolls his shoulders, wing shifting over Dean. There’s a hell of an urge to grin against his skin and take this even further, but Cas made himself tired by making this place more comfortable for the both of them and he had a shitty month. He deserves to be pampered right now.

Dean sucks lightly at the lobe of Cas’s ear and flicks his tongue along its edge before he murmurs quietly. “Need a grooming, Cas?”

He goes still then shivers, wing twitching over Dean’s shoulder and pulling him in tighter. Cas’s eyes look surprised, but his smile is pleased. Dean runs his fingers through Cas’s feathers again and his eyes flutter shut, a small noise catching in the back of his throat. Yeah, that’s definitely a ‘yes’. He grins and dips his head to tease a kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“I need to relieve myself first.” Cas murmurs, letting go of Dean’s hand to push at his shoulder. “Give me a few minutes.”

Dean rolls onto his back and nods toward the bathroom. “Be my guest. When you’re done, get comfortable and spread one. I’ll take care of it.”

x

Castiel stares at himself in the mirror hanging over the water basin. Mirrors aren’t new to him. He has one wrapped in cloth kept with his effects back at the clan and uses it when painting his markings – although he can mostly do those from memory alone. Despite that, he’s still not used to seeing his own face. When he was alone, he tried not to look at himself. Seeing his own face only made him feel extremely alone.

At least he didn’t feel _that_ alone once he returned to the clan. Balthazar gives him companionship, but Dean has spoiled Castiel for physical intimacy. The only touches he receives at the clan are to the shoulder or arm from Balthazar on occasion. Everyone else avoids touching him completely. Even in the small corridors between the tents in the main cavern, the others will go out of their way to avoid touching him – to avoid touching his _wings_. They likely think that touching his black wings would bring them bad luck.

He didn’t tell Dean anything about that when he was talking about the last month. He didn’t want him to worry about how he’s treated there. It would have just made Dean angry. But Castiel prefers having him happy. Especially if Dean is happy enough to be willing to touch Castiel’s wings, even willing to _groom_ them. Dean even does it on his own, reaching for Castiel’s wings as soon as he’s close enough. It’s Dean’s willingness to touch Castiel’s wings that kept him from saying anything about how often Dean touched them before.

His wings twitch and spread slightly in the little space of the room and Castiel watches them in the mirror. Dean thinks they’re beautiful. He’s said it before that Castiel’s wings are the best he’s ever seen. Dean _loves_ his wings. When he was a child, Castiel liked his wings. He thought they made him special. But for the last fifty years, Castiel has hated them. He blamed them for his loneliness and why he’d been basically forced to leave the clan. Now Dean loves them and through him, Castiel is slowly starting to like his wings again.

 Castiel smiles at his reflection and steps away from the water basin to look down at the toilet. It’s been well over half a century since he used one. They’ve changed very little since then and he still doesn’t like using them. It’s unnatural to push a lever and have everything just whoosh away. He doesn’t even know where it goes.

But Castiel can understand why Dean wants one for the salman. It’s extremely nice to not have to go out into the cold to find a place of privacy and dig a hole. He should definitely look into getting something similar for the salman just for the convenience. Especially if he wants Dean to visit him more whenever he finally gets to go home. Though that likely won’t be happening any time soon.

When he finally leaves the bathroom, Castiel finds Dean crouched by the main fire and feeding it a few logs from a stockpile next to the icebox. He looks up when the door shuts and his smile grows. “Took you long enough. Were you prepping yourself without me again?” His tone is teasing and Castiel ducks his head, hands going to the tie around his waist that holds his tunic closed.

This hasn’t been the first time today that Dean has made reference to sex. As Castiel pulls one of the ties through the hole in his shirt and lets them hang free down his front, he wonders if Dean keeps mentioning sex because he wants to have it again. He certainly seemed to like everything they did back at the salman. His shirt falls away when he unbuttons the collar holding the fabric around his neck and Castiel is well aware that Dean is watching him closely as he places the folded shirt on what remains of the bed.

Dean certainly knows how to be affectionate, but Castiel wonders if sex is how he showed his attraction to others before. Everything he knows about Dean’s previous relationships definitely plays to that. And he’s well aware that Dean definitely likes sex in his own regard. While Castiel undoes his own pants, he needs to be honest with himself. He enjoyed the sex too – all of it from the first gentle touches after he’d painted the star to when Dean had moved in him. But maybe he likes it for different reasons.

Castiel liked the sex because he got to see a different side to Dean than he has before. Even when he was sick, Dean wasn’t as laid bare and open with Castiel as he was during sex. Dean is never more honest than when they’re being intimate. Dropping that much of his guard is a show of trust and Castiel returns it without issue.

He looks up to find Dean at his side, a gentle smile on his lips. Dean is still waiting for an answer. Castiel returns the smile with a sly edge and lets his pants drop. “Maybe.” Even if he doesn’t have any plans for it, Castiel would still be willing if Dean wants it despite that he hasn’t washed for it like the documents he’d read stated he should.

A low, surprised laugh echoes in the room and Dean crouches to take Castiel’s pants once he’s stepped out of them. “Get comfortable and give me a wing.” He folds the pants for him and places it on top of the shirt. “I’m going to move the table a little so you can rest it on top of that instead of having to hold it up the whole time, okay?”

“Thank you.” Castiel gives him a tired smile.

While Dean moves the table, Castiel stretches out across the bottom of the bed. His legs hang off one edge, but he doesn’t mind as he pillows his cheek on his crossed arms. He waits for Dean to give him the signal to stretch his right wing out across the room and over the table. A tight anticipation starts to build below his ribs as Dean approaches the bed again. It always feels amazing when Dean grooms his wings and he’s looking forward to it.

Castiel braces himself when Dean’s fingers gently comb through the downy feathers under his wing. He bites his lip and closes his eyes as he feels Dean’s fingertips squeeze around the gland. A sharp gasp punches out of him with the first burst of oil. It’s not that he forgot the burn of pleasure and pain during this, but it’s always surprising and he’s never quite prepared for it.

Dean is quick and methodical with oiling his wings, moving with a familiarity that sends warmth seeping through Castiel’s feathers. That heat crawls along his bones to pool in his chest. The look in Dean’s eyes is of fond reverence and Castiel can barely breathe with each stroke of his fingers. He watches every movement and every moment of it from the axillaries to the primaries.

When Dean finishes his right wing, he guides it to fold slowly to Castiel’s back again. Dean even helps him to his knees so he can turn to lay on his stomach facing the other direction. The process repeats itself with his left wing and Castiel sucks in a sharp breath again when he squeezes the untouched gland under that wing. A quiet apology is murmured against the back of his neck as Dean presses a gentle kiss there. Castiel hums and this time he doesn’t watch Dean oil his wing. Instead, he sinks into the sensation of fingers pinching around feathers and raking through them.

He’s barely aware of what’s going on around him even when Dean brings his left wing to fold against his back again. Castiel’s limbs feel loose, weak, and satisfied when he pushes himself up to kneel again, making room for Dean on the bed too. Dean sits next to him and Castiel’s hands feel clumsy when he reaches for him, pushing his over shirt off his shoulders. Without needing to be asked, Dean lifts his arms above his head when Castiel grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts it.

Dean backs away up the bed slowly as Castiel throws his shirts to the lower bed still on the floor. He would normally have taken the time to fold them, but his attention is focused on the stark black star on his chest. With a practiced motion, Dean flips the blankets back and slips under them. Castiel follows, carefully crawling into place next to him. They pull the blanket up only as high as their waists, leaving Castiel’s wings free.

There’s something warm and pulsing settled heavy in his chest as Castiel leans over him. Dean laughs and reaches up, gently stroking a hand through Castiel’s hair as he dips his head to press kisses to Dean’s chest. The star is his mark on Dean and it demands his attention. It demands to be tasted and traced with lips, tongue, and fingers for as many times as Castiel can do it. He’s enthralled by the star and Dean’s willingness to permanently place it on his skin.

Even if Castiel doesn’t trust Raphael not to double cross them somehow, he still has his permission to continue his relationship with Dean. Castiel can keep seeing Dean, keep tasting and touching and simply _being_ with him. This leaves him extremely content and deeply pleased right now. At this specific point in time, Castiel is very happy with his life. Certainly there are parts of it that could be improved, but those are things well outside of his control.

“You ever gonna stop kissing my tat and start kissing me?” Dean asks quietly, tugging lightly at his hair. “I’m getting kinda lonely up here.”

“My apologies.” Castiel hums against his skin and delivers one last kiss to the center of the star before he moves to kissing Dean properly. “I’m extremely happy right now. _You_ make me very happy.” Dean should know that. He should know that he makes Castiel just as happy as what Dean told Raphael – that he makes Dean happy too.

Dean’s laugh is smothered between their kisses as he turns more fully into Castiel, hooking a leg over his to pull him closer. Castiel marvels at the difference in the curry he made and what he can still taste on Dean’s tongue. He keeps most of his weight on his right arm at Dean’s side, freeing his other hand to continue tracing the star.

“Y’know –” Dean murmurs when Castiel moves to trace his ear with his lips simply because he can. “– there’s a whole bunch of sappy things I could say right now.”

“Then say them.” Castiel breathes against his ear, catching at it with his teeth and loving that he can feel the trembling through Dean’s body. “It’s only us here, Dean. There’s no one else to hear it but me.”

He shakes his head and slides his fingers along Castiel’s back. “I’m not good with words, Cas. I’m gonna settle on saying one thing that sums up all the other things. So listen close, okay?” Dean turns Castiel’s face back to his to catch his lips in a kiss again. His voice drops to a whisper, so low that Castiel can barely hear him.  “I plan on keeping you happy for as long as I can.”

Castiel’s smile interrupts the kisses and he drops his head to press his face against Dean’s neck. His wings fluff and fold closer, itching with the want to wrap around Dean and hold him close. He felt very hot before, but he’s never felt this _warm_ – this _happy_. Dean laughs and his fingers slip into Castiel’s feathers again. He rearranges how they’re lying, keeping Castiel tucked close to his side as he turns completely onto his back. Dean lifts the blanket to get Castiel’s wings underneath it too. Castiel muffles a laugh against his throat when Dean pulls his wing over him and continues to stroke over the feathers like he just can’t stop touching them.

“Me too, my micaloz.” He murmurs against Dean’s collarbone. It makes Dean laugh – a happy, bubbling sound that can’t seem to stay in his chest. Castiel stays where he is despites Dean’s shuffling, his cheek resting heavy on his shoulder. “Are we going to sleep now?” It’s still early in the evening – not that he would mind an early night. He’s slept so little over the last month that it would be a welcome change.

“Maybe, maybe not.” Dean slips an arm around Castiel’s shoulders and squeezes him closely. “We’re just getting comfortable. If we fall asleep, then it’ll just be a happy accident. Wouldn’t be surprising though – since I barely slept the last few days. Too excited to see you.” He pauses for a moment before continuing with a hopeful lilt to it. “Unless you’ve got other plans?”

“None specifically. You?”

Dean shrugs and his foot shifts to rub lightly against Castiel’s ankle. “I wouldn’t really call ‘em _plans_. They’re more like _possibilities_.” His thumb follows the same up-down motion on Castiel’s shoulder as his foot takes against his ankle. “I dunno, Cas. What do you want to do?”

Castiel draws nonsensical designs along Dean’s chest with the point of his finger, pressing hard enough to see his skin go white. “We don’t have to do anything. Is there anything wrong with us lying together in silence?”

“No, not really.” He hums and Castiel looks up to see that Dean has closed his eyes. “But I’ve had a month of silence. Nothing wrong with talking though. Can you tell me what your assignments are?”

“I don’t know any of the details yet, but I can tell you what they are probably going to be like.” Castiel closes his eyes too, breathing in the dark and tangy scent that always lingers on Dean’s skin. “I’ll likely be sent out to find and eliminate groups of Hamiamma or monsters that our contacts have found. If we’re able to get minimize or completely eradicate their presence on this continent, Lucifer won’t have much of a foot hold when he tries bringing the war here.”

Dean hums and drums his fingers on Castiel’s shoulder. “It’ll be easier to hold him off if he can’t hit the clans here from both sides, huh? Native Hamiamma and the foreign ones he’ll be bringing over, right?”

Castiel nods, drawing the Enochian that forms his name along Dean’s ribs. “Exactly. Our own forces aren’t strong enough to send help overseas to the other clans. We’re going to do what we can to fortify our own defenses and hope that the other clans will do the same. It would be a great tragedy to lose another like we did Gabriel’s.”

He isn’t expecting Dean’s hold around him to get even tighter, his fingers digging into his shoulder slightly. It takes Castiel a moment of confusion before he remembers what Dean had said before. The war scares Dean. Not because of the threat it might eventually pose to him, but because of the danger it brings to _Castiel’s_ life. Dean is scared for him – scared of _losing_ him. This conversation isn’t comforting Dean in any way, it’s only agitating him. With a small smile, Castiel props himself up on his elbow again and kisses Dean gently. He cups his jaw and strokes his cheek with his thumb.

Dean’s breathing stutters slightly before he returns the kiss with a smile of his own. “Sorry.” He murmurs. “I wanted to know but at the same time I didn’t, y’know?”

“I know.” Castiel says softly, kissing him again. “There’s nothing that I can say that will keep you from worrying, but I will promise that I will be as careful as I possibly can.” He rests his forehead against Dean’s, meeting his eyes briefly before Dean shuts them again. “I will be careful, Dean, because I want to keep coming home to you.”

“You keep saying stuff like that, Cas, and you’re gonna spoil me for everyone else.” Dean wraps both his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and pulls him down to hide his blush against his neck.

It’s all Castiel can do not to laugh out loud. He lets Dean cover his neck and collarbone with shy kisses before he pulls away to slide down the bed again. Castiel enjoys listening to Dean’s heartbeat under his ear and laying like this is exceptionally comfortable for them both – especially when Dean starts running a hand through his hair. It feels just as good as when he does the same to his feathers and if Castiel isn’t careful, he might get horribly addicted to it.

“Dean?” He asks after a few minutes, when Dean’s fingers have started to slow. Dean answers in a low hum, as if he’s getting sleepy himself. Castiel taps his fingers on his sternum, hoping to keep him awake long enough for more questions. “Would you be willing to check on the salman for me? Silvanus can only stay outside, but I would like someone to go inside every so often to make sure that no animals have gotten in and made a mess.”

It makes little difference to him right now. Castiel is certain that he won’t be returning for several months – if not years. He can only hope for a day sometime soon where he’ll be allowed to go home. And when that time comes, Castiel would like to see Dean in his home again. Despite making this place more comfortable for them, it still isn’t home and Castiel would prefer seeing Dean in _his_ home.

“Sure, Cas.” He mumbles, pressing a sleepy kiss to Castiel’s forehead. “When you want me to go there?”

“When the snow melts. I don’t want to burden Silvanus with having to keep the roads cleared or risk your car getting stuck.” Castiel muffles a yawn partway through his sentence and a small laugh rumbles through Dean’s chest under his ear.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll go camping for a day or two when the weather lets up.” Dean mirrors his yawn and squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t do that again, you’re making me sleepy.”

Castiel smiles and tilts his head to rub his nose up under Dean’s jaw. “Go ahead and sleep, Dean. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

It doesn’t take long after that for Dean’s breathing to even out and his heart beat to slow. Not more than a few minutes after that, Castiel has to force away a thought that comes to mind. He’s only going to have three more days of this before he has to lose it until his mission is done and there’s no telling how long that is going to be. Why do these thoughts always bring themselves forward when he’s with Dean and has a moment to think?

At least this time is different than the last. This time, Castiel knows he’ll get to see Dean as soon as his next mission is done. He won’t know how long until he learns the details of the assignment, but at the very least he knows that there _will_ be a time when he sees Dean again. Unlike the last time when they parted and he thought it would be a year before he would get to see him again. It hurts to be away from Dean for so long. Castiel wants to see him as often as he can for as long as he can, as long as Dean is willing of course.

He has strong suspicions that Dean is more than willing in that regard.

Those are the last thoughts he has before sleep takes him. When Castiel wakes again, the fire is nothing more than embers and the first light of dawn is coming through the window. He muffles his yawn against the side of Dean’s chest. They slept the whole night. It’s an unexpected but welcome surprise and was well needed. Castiel feels rested and very content.

Dean is still very much asleep and snuffling quietly into Castiel’s hair. He finds it extremely endearing and for all that it’s worth, Castiel doesn’t want to move. But he _needs_ to and he carefully draws away from Dean, making sure that he stays under the blanket and he stays warm while Castiel slides across the bed to get up without disturbing Dean.

After a short trip to the bathroom and stopping to build the fire again to warm the room again, Castiel tries getting back into the bed without waking Dean again. It’s just as difficult a task as leaving was. Dean has moved in the short time that he’s been gone. He’s laying on his side now, face buried in one pillow and the other pulled to his chest. Clearly Dean prefers holding something when he sleeps and Castiel stamps down on the bubbling jealousy of a _pillow_. He’s right here. Why would Dean need to hold anything but him?

Carefully, Castiel extracts the pillow and props it up against the wall. He leans back against it and takes several minutes to gently guide Dean to roll into him. Dean throws an arm around Castiel’s waist and nuzzles his face into the side of his chest. Castiel curves his wings around them, folding them lightly over Dean so the growing light in the room doesn’t wake him.

With light fingers, Castiel tracks the small scars scattered across Dean’s back and shoulders. He compares them to the mental map he made a month ago. To his relief, there isn’t anything new. It’s always a fear at the back of Castiel’s mind that something might happen to Dean when he hunts alone. Even Hamiaah don’t hunt on their own. They do it with a partner in pairs or groups, but never _alone_. It’s exactly why Castiel never hunted during the last fifty years.

He wishes that he could be Dean’s hunting partner. But he can’t. Castiel can’t go everywhere that Dean can. Well, he _could_ , but not safely. A Hamiaah walking through a Human city would be both extremely obvious and very unsafe for himself. He would have to travel with Dean in his car and it’s so small and closed off. Castiel would never be able to sit in it comfortably for very long with his wings and without starting to feel claustrophobic.

Castiel leaves Dean’s shoulders to slide his fingers through his hair. He enjoys touching Dean in all aspects and especially when Dean is as open as he is while sleeping. It takes him several minutes of stroking through Dean’s hair to realize that the small smile on Dean’s lips isn’t the same kind that he usually has when he’s sleeping contently. This little smile is the kind that Castiel sees on him when Dean is trying to hide how happy he is and when he is _awake_.

“Good morning, Dean.” Castiel murmurs, squeezing his wings in tighter. “How long have you been awake?”

Dean’s smile grows and he opens his eyes, glancing up at Castiel. “Since you took my pillow.” A yawn whispers across Castiel’s skin and a small shiver tickles along his spine at the sensation. “Sitting like this isn’t bothering your wings, is it?”

“I have a pillow between them to alleviate the pressure on the joints. I’ll be fine for a while.”

Castiel continues running his hands through Dean’s hair. It’s soft and it makes Dean sigh happily. He presses in closer to Castiel’s side and starts rubbing his cheek against his chest, his stubble scraping his skin gently. In the same motion, Dean turns his head and starts pressing a few kisses along the curving black lines of Castiel’s markings.

“You gonna go back to sleep any time soon, Cas?” Dean asks as he slides one of his legs between Castiel’s, getting close enough for Castiel to feel a burgeoning erection against his thigh. With little effort, Dean props himself up on one arm and dips his head to continue sliding kisses down Castiel’s sternum and towards his belly.

There’s more than enough evidence for Castiel to piece together to know that Dean is aroused. He knew that even before he felt Dean’s erection. Castiel knows from previous mornings together that Dean is often like this when he wakes up. This was apparent to him even before the short week when they were amorous together.

“I could be persuaded to stay awake.” Castiel teases, watching closely as Dean glances back up at him. Dean has an extra warmth to him that Castiel rarely sees outside of when he’s giving pleasure. It’s fascinating to watch and he can’t look away, can’t stop touching – his hand staying firmly in Dean’s hair.

“Oh good.” Dean smiles against his stomach, tongue flicking out to dip into Castiel’s belly button. The look in his eyes and the feel of his tongue makes Castiel’s breathing stutter in his throat. “There’s something I want to try.”


	40. Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he wakes up, Cas is sitting next to him, gently running his fingers through Dean’s hair while he stares out at the room. Dean muffles a yawn and lifts his head to put it on Cas’s thigh. “Hey, handsome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

“Close your eyes.” Dean murmurs, his touch burning over Castiel’s stomach and thighs.

He frowns and tightens his fingers minutely in Dean’s hair. “Why? I want to see what you’re – I want to see _you_.” If they’re going to be amorous, Castiel wants to see him and memorize every twitch and sigh all over again.

A smile ghosts up his stomach until Dean can press kisses to his chest while his fingers carefully pluck at the ties of the qaa. “You’ll know when you can open your eyes again. It’s just the start that I want to be a surprise, okay?”

Dean looks up at Castiel with warm eyes that are a little _too_ wide. It takes Castiel a moment to realize that Dean is nervous. He doesn’t understand what Dean could possibly be making him feel anxious right now. There’s nothing new about touching each other and Dean should know that Castiel is completely comfortable with him. When Dean looks up at him again after peeling the qaa away, there’s pleading in his eyes. Castiel sighs and closes his.

Even if he’s expecting it, the feather light touch of Dean’s fingers on his penis still makes Castiel twitch. He sucks in a sharp breath of surprise and curls his fingers in the fabric covering the bed as Dean starts to stroke him slowly – likely with the intent to get Castiel just as aroused as he is. Dean continues to kiss his chest and stomach, often stretching up to press sucking kisses to his neck. Sweet words are murmured against his skin – soft descriptions of how much Dean missed him and all the things he thought about him in the time they were apart. It spreads an unexpected heat through his veins and Castiel arches into the words just as much as he does the touches.

After a while, the bed shifts and Dean’s lips leave him. “Keep your eyes closed.”

“I am.” Castiel’s voice shakes a little and he swallows around a lump of anticipation, trying to keep his breathing even. He wants to find out what Dean is going to do next and he’s not going to jeopardize it by opening them too soon.

His wings twitch out in surprise, feathers catching on the pillows as something alien fits over the head of his penis under Dean’s fingers. It feels suffocating and constricting and he squirms unhappily, barely refraining from opening his eyes. “What are you doing? What is that?”

“You’ll see.”

“Does that mean I can open my eyes now?”

Dean laughs and Castiel feels the rush of his breath across his stomach. “No, not yet. You’ll know when you’ll be allowed to.” He pauses and the bed shifts again as Dean moves up to kiss him gently, his voice barely more than a whisper. “If you don’t like this, you can tell me to stop. Y’know that, right?”

Castiel squirms a little more, trying to get used to whatever it is Dean puts on his penis. A hazy memory of the thin skinned condom Dean wore the first time they had sex rises in his mind and his heart starts beating even harder. Is Dean planning on letting Castiel enter him? When did he have the time to clean himself like the document said he should? And why is Dean asking such a silly question like that now? Castiel has liked everything Dean has shown him and he knows that Dean holds significance to a sexual aspect of a relationship. They’re both aroused now – why would he ever think of telling him to stop?

He takes a deep breath and lifts his head until Dean gets the idea and kisses him again. Blindly, Castiel reaches up to find Dean’s shoulder, tracing the muscles and freckles he can’t see until he can sink his fingers into Dean’s hair and hold him there. The kiss is his answer. Dean’s hand hasn’t stopped once and Castiel thinks he might be well beyond words now. Though he isn’t beyond sounds and Castiel bites back a soft whimper when his hand leaves him to pulls his hands from his hair. Dean presses them to the bed again, hard enough that Castiel understands he doesn’t want him to move them – not yet, at least.

The last thing that Castiel expects when Dean draws away from him again is to feel heat close over the head of his penis. He cries out in surprise and his wings flare wide, crashing into the cage of vines that holds their nest in place. His hips would come off the bed if Dean’s hands weren’t firmly holding them down. Nothing Dean says now would be enough to keep him from opening his eyes and Castiel gasps at the sight of Dean kneeling between his legs, watching from under his lashes as he dips his head and flattens his tongue near the base of Castiel’s penis, licking in one long stripe back to the head.

This – _this_ is new. No wonder Dean was nervous. He said he’s never done anything more than use his hands on another man. He never mentioned anything about using his mouth. It hasn’t ever occurred to Castiel that this was a possibility. At least he doesn’t remember if it ever has. His mind is too preoccupied with these new sensations to focus on memories, and watching everything that Dean does is very, _very_ distraction. All Castiel can do is tremble under the inelegant twist of Dean’s tongue, gasping with ever bob of his head.

It’s overwhelming knowing that Dean is giving him something he’s never given anyone else before. Castiel’s hands are shaking even with how hard they’re curled in the thin blanket over the bed, holding on tightly as he tries to just _breathe_ through it all. When Dean takes his hands and moves them back to his head, Castiel twists his fingers in his hair and Dean immediately groans around him. It’s like fire under his skin. He doesn’t even remember sitting up and curling over Dean’s head and back, or when his wings fold forward to form a shivering dome of black feathers around them.

His orgasm comes as a surprise to them both and Dean groans again. Castiel’s chest heaves with every breath and he flops back to the pillow, hissing at the strain on the joints of his wings. Even though it means laying on his wing itself, Castiel still turns onto his side and struggles to calm himself with ever breath. Dean’s smile is extremely smug even as he carefully pulls the condom off him. The bed swings slightly as he leaves the nest to go throw it out in the bathroom.

When he returns, Castiel can clearly see the line of his erection tenting the front of his shorts. It’s a good reminder that he hasn’t reciprocated any of the pleasure Dean has given him so far today. As soon as Dean is back on the bed, Castiel reaches for him. Dean laughs as he’s pulled down and they shuffle until Castiel is the one laying between his legs, his head on Dean’s chest and the hard line of his erection pressing into his stomach.

“So, I take it I did well enough with the first blow job I’ve ever given?” Dean  teases, his hands drawing patterns along the back of Castiel’s neck.

“There was very little blowing involved.” He huffs, spreading his wings across the bed as well as he can. “But it was very enjoyable. Thank you.”

Dean hums and runs his hands through Castiel’s hair. “You had a shitty month. I figured I could at least _try_ and give you something nice, even if I spent the whole thing paranoid out of my head hoping I was doing it right. The girls I’ve been with all made it look so _easy_.”

“How often would we have to do that before either of us starts thinking it looks easy?” Castiel asks, saying it only for the laugh he knows it will get him. Dean doesn’t disappoint and his chest shakes under Castiel’s cheek thought he doesn’t give an answer.

The air has changed between them. He can smell it mixed with the tang of Dean’s skin. It’s intoxicating and Castiel closes his eyes to drink it in. There’s something cathartic about being in Dean’s arms again, listening to the beat of his heart and feeling the rise and fall of each breath. It’s everything that Castiel craved for a month and he wants to bask in it. If they could spend their three days together just like this, he would be happy.

But first he has to reciprocate everything Dean did for him. To be quite honest, Castiel is looking forward to trying. It’s a new experience and one that he’s pleased to get to share with Dean. Castiel remembers Silvanus’s words about his first Qaal and his mate and heat sears through his chest. He lifts his head to press a gentle kiss to the center of the star on Dean’s chest, tracing the edges with his tongue from memory now. The muscles in Dean’s stomach jump and twitch under his lips as he starts edging his way down the bed and his body.

“Cas, y’don’t gotta do that.” Dean murmurs, his fingers sifting gently through Castiel’s hair.

“I want to.” He says truthfully. Castiel wants to share all of his experiences with Dean.

When Dean offers him another condom, Castiel refuses it. If he’s going to do this, he doesn’t want to taste _that_. Dean mutters apologies and explanations about habit that Castiel only half listens to. He’s too busy pulling Dean’s shorts down and trying to remember everything that Dean did. As it turns out, even for his first time Dean managed to make the ‘blowjob’ look much easier than it actually is. Castiel tries mimicking exactly what Dean did for him and Dean isn’t shy to use his hands and words to guide Castiel into doing what he wants.

Before he’d been too preoccupied with feeling everything to realize just how vulnerable this is for them both. He could easily hurt Dean like this, and Dean could just as easily hurt him in other ways. The amount of trust required for both parties is astounding and Castiel revels in it.

“Cas – Jesus, Cas, I’m gonna –” Dean’s fingers suddenly curl tightly in his hair and Castiel focuses again, redoubling his efforts. “Cas – Cas, y’don’t –” His breathing trips over itself and his hips keep twitching hard under Castiel’s hands.

At that moment, Castiel looks up at him. Dean is flushed, lips parted, eyes hooded and burning with the same heat Castiel can feel beating in time with his heart. He doesn’t look away as Dean trembles through his orgasm, spilling across Castiel’s tongue. The taste is bitter, but not unpleasant and Castiel wonders if that’s why Dean chose to use the condom when he did this for him.

“Holy fuck.” Dean breathes, sagging heavily against the bed. “That was – Shit. That was awesome.”

Castiel laughs and wipes a hand across his mouth as he gets his knees under him again. “You don’t need to cater to my ego, Dean. I’m aware that my experience was solely what you’ve given me and you’ve undoubtedly had better.”

A short, surprised laugh punches out of Dean and he drapes an arm over his eyes. “You want me to disagree with you there, Cas?”

“It’s fact. Whether you agree or disagree is entirely up to you.” He smiles and leans over to kiss Dean’s arm. “I have accepted that you have more experience than me. Perhaps one day I’ll be able to lay claim to being the best you’ve ever had.”

Dean laughs again and reaches out to pull Castiel down against him. “Looking forward to it.” He kisses Castiel’s cheek and rubs his face into his hair. “Y’wanna know a secret? Seeing you trying so hard because it’s what you _wanted_ to do – that’s what really got the ol’ crank turning.”

“What crank?” He frowns against Dean’s clavicle, not understanding the idiom.

His question only makes Dean laugh more and he doesn’t stop for several minutes. When he finally does, he settles more comfortably into the bed. “I think I’m good for a nap now.”

“Our visit is only going to be three days. I refuse to spend half of it sleeping.” Castiel’s wings flap against the bed lightly as he pushes himself up. “Get dressed. We’ll have a quick breakfast and go for a walk. The winter air should wake you up nicely.”

Groaning, Dean rolls onto his stomach and pulls a pillow over his head. Castiel pays him no heed and slips from the bed, searching for his abandoned qaa. By the time he manages to convince Dean to get up, he’s already dressed and breakfast is cooking on the stove. Dean groans again when Castiel tugs at his foot.

“Get up, Dean. I want to show you the area.” He pulls Dean down the bed, bracing his knees against the edge of the mattress to keep the nest from moving too. “I’m not as familiar with the forest here as I am with home and I would like to explore with you.”

After another loud groan, Dean crawls off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom. He takes longer than Castiel thinks necessary, but he comes out looking a little more refreshed – though still naked. Once he’s dressed and they’ve both eaten, they prepare for going outside again. Castiel doesn’t have his mabza, but the winter day is mild and he has both his mittens and the poncho. Dean still brings the blanket from their bed with them, explaining away that if Castiel feels too cold he can use the blanket until they manage to get back to the felanthe.

There are no paths into the forest and they have to wade through the snow for most of the way until they reach the areas where the branches are too thick above to let so much snow through. It’s still not as easy as walking around Castiel’s home, but they make do. A different view of the world is always a nice change – though Castiel still misses his salman and would prefer being there.

On the walk back, Dean stops suddenly when they pass through a small glade. He looks down at the untouched snow on either side of their path before he smiles brightly at Castiel. With a wink, he turns around and falls back, landing in the snow with all his limbs spread. Castiel doesn’t bother asking what he’s doing, watching as Dean sweeps his arms and legs in arcs before he holds his hand out for assistance with standing.

“How’s it look?” Dean asks as soon as he’s on his feet again, turning to look down at the impression left in the snow. “Goddamn, that’s perfect. I’m awesome.”

“What is it?”

The way Dean bites his bottom lip and looks at Castiel with wide eyes leaves him feeling nothing but suspicious. And then Dean starts to laugh. Nothing good could come from that and Castiel wants to know _why_ and _what_. He buffets Dean’s shoulder with one of his wings and Dean nearly collapses into the snow again. Dean only answers when Castiel crouches and starts gathering snow between his hands, compacting it into a ball.

“Okay, okay!” He backs away, hands raised in surrender though he’s still laughing. “It’s a snow angel. They’re called _snow angels_.”

Castiel looks down at the sweeping pattern left in the snow. “It looks nothing like an Angel.”

“Not a _Hamiaah_ kind of Angel. I’m talking top-of-the-Christmas tree kind of angel.” Dean tries explaining, but it only leaves Castiel even more confused.

Which, in his opinion, is completely deserving of being pelted with snowballs. Castiel stays crouched in the snow, forming snowballs almost as quickly as he’s throwing them and Dean’s laughter echoes through the glade. He ducks and stumbles back to the tree line, trying to avoid being hit. It does him no good. Castiel’s aim is true and he gets far too much pleasure out of the sharp yelps of surprise whenever he adjusts to actually _hit_ Dean with one. More than half of them miss on purpose.

Dean takes cover in the trees and it’s only a moment before he starts returning fire. Castiel uses the blanket he’s had draped over his shoulders as a shield, ignoring Dean’s accusations of cheating, while he sprints to the other side of the clearing to find his own cover between the trees. The clearing is just wide enough that if Dean wants to hit him, he’s going to have to come out of hiding. Though the same could be said for him.

Any thought of defense is quickly abandoned after they’ve built up stocks of ammunition. They chase each other back and forth across the clearing, using whatever snowballs are available at hand. No one is winning or losing, and Castiel enjoys this mockery of battle. It’s better than any of the training he’s had over the last month and it feels good to laugh again.

Neither one of them is expecting Silvanus to come crashing out of the forest with a loud roar that startles them both. He bounds around them in excited circles, trampling the snow.

“What’s he doing here?” Dean whispers, making sure to stay carefully pressed against Castiel’s back and turning them in kind so Castiel is always between them.

“It causes too much trouble with the clan for him to visit me there.” Castiel explains, stepping away to stop Silvanus’s prancing and hug him. “The forest must have told him I was here and he came to visit.” Silvanus rumbles a purr of agreement and his tail wags excitedly.

“Yeah? That why he’s giving me the stink-eye?”

He steps away from Silvanus just as a look of faux innocence slips onto his wooden face. **I would do no such thing, Qaal.** Silvanus steps forward to nudge him with his nose. **I would like to play too.**

Castiel relays the message to Dean. Despite his wariness, Dean relents and the snowball fight picks up again. This time it spreads out of the clearing as Dean tries to use the trees to his advantage when Silvanus makes it his mission to kick as much snow at him as he can. This proves to be unwise and Castiel winces the first time Silvanus slams his body into a tree to knock the snow from its branches directly onto Dean.

It’s quite clear that Silvanus has taken to Castiel’s side and the teams are severely unbalanced. Dean makes a show of declaring this when Castiel helps pull him out of the pile of snow he was nearly buried under. Silvanus’s answer is to knock another tree’s worth of snow onto them both. His huffing laughter fills the forest as Castiel and Dean struggle together to get back to their feet.

“I think we lost the moment you let him play.” Dean mutters, hissing as snow goes down the back of his jacket. “New rule, Rudolph isn’t allowed in anymore reindeer games.”

“He’s not a reindeer and his name isn’t Rudolph.” Castiel corrects before realizing that Dean was making a reference to something he doesn’t know. He sighs and spreads his wings, shaking them to knock loose the snow caught between his feathers. “I believe _he_ is the cheater in all of this.”

“Agreed.”

Silvanus sits not far away from them, creaking with laughter and practically emitting a smug air that Castiel can feel through their bond. His laughter gets even louder when Dean sneezes and starts shivering. His clothing is damp as his body heat starts melting the snow and Castiel would offer him the blanket if it wasn’t in a similar state.

“I think we should head back and warm up.” He suggests, folding one of his wings around Dean and pulling him close. “If you start feeling sick, let me know and I can heal you.”

Dean leans into him, tucking a cold nose against Castiel’s neck as his arms circle his waist. “I know. The last thing I wanna do is have the sniffles for the few days I get to actually see you.” He shivers under Castiel’s wing. “But you definitely have my vote for heading back now. How far are we?”

They’re far enough for Castiel to worry about Dean getting too cold on the walk back to the felanthe. He looks over his shoulder to Silvanus and he must know what Castiel is thinking, as his laughter stops abruptly. Silvanus snorts and shakes his head, getting to his feet and stomping the snow. Before he can even think of leaving, Castiel flares his wings in warning.

He brings his hands to Dean’s shoulders and squeezes them. “Silvanus will carry you back to the felanthe. You’ll be warmer sooner. I can fly and meet you there.”

“Whoa, hold on!” Dean steps away sharply and Silvanus makes a similar sound of surprise. “I’m not gonna – Cas, I can’t _ride him_.”

“You can.” Castiel turns him around and pushes him forward. “Silvanus, crouch please. I’ll show you how to sit and where to hold on.”

It takes several minutes to get Silvanus to hold still long enough for Castiel to convince Dean to climb on his back. As soon as he’s settled and his hands are firmly buried in the vines at the base of Silvanus’s neck, Dean squeezes his eyes shut and curls forward over the blanket Castiel shoves under his arms.

“Why can’t you ride with me? There’s tons of room.”

“I would like to fly.” Castiel hops down and gestures for Silvanus to move. “I’ll meet you there.”

Dean makes a strangled sound of surprise as Silvanus lurches into motion and takes off at a loping gait. Castiel takes to the trees, climbing as quickly as he can and back toward the clearing. It’s difficult to get the lift he needs in such a small glade, but circling helps and he beats his wings hard until he has enough height to be able to soar above the treetops. By the time he finds where Silvanus and Dean are, they’re already halfway to the felanthe.

He waits until they break into the field around the felanthe before he dives down to fly alongside them. Dean’s eyes are still closed and he doesn’t even open them when Castiel calls out to him, asking how the ride has gone so far. Castiel lands before Silvanus stops, using his momentum to jog along the path until he’s joined them. By then, Dean has already tumbled from Silvanus’s back and into a snow bank. He’s muttering darkly when Castiel helps him back to his feet.

“Never again, Cas. He’s like the horse from _hell_.” Dean stumbles as soon as he has his footing. “He was doing fancy bounces and shit just to mess with me. I _know_ he was. _Never again._ ” He turns a dark look on Silvanus before a violent shiver has him retreating back inside.

“Did you really do that?” Castiel asks, flicking Silvanus with his wing. He hadn’t been able to see them through the branches of the forest for most of the trip.

 **It was only for fun, Qaal.** He ducks his head and shuffles his feet. **I would have stopped if he had asked me to. He said nothing.**

Castiel probably shouldn’t laugh, but he does. “Be nicer to him next time.”

 **Perhaps.** Silvanus sounds far too amused for his own good, pleased with himself for making Castiel laugh. **I enjoyed playing, but you are cold now.** His tail whips around to brush against Castiel’s legs. **Go get warm and spend time with your Human. You deserve this break. I will see you again soon.**

“You like him.” He teases, removing his mittens so the fabric doesn’t catch when he rubs his hands over Silvanus’s muzzle. “You act like you don’t, but you do.”

Silvanus snorts and turns his head away, shaking and rustling his leaves. **I tolerate him. For you, Qaal.**

“I know.” Castiel smiles and brushes his wing along his side as he heads to the door. “Thank you. If you’d like, you can accompany me back to the clan. I have a few more days here before I’ll have to return.”

**I would like that. Enjoy yourself and tell your human if he hurts you –**

“He knows. Stay safe, Silvanus.”

Dean is already half naked when Castiel joins him. The fire in the center of the room is roaring and he’s in the process of laying his clothing out around it, draping the blanket over the chairs he dragged next to the pit. Castiel undresses by the door, removing everything including his qaa, and takes them to Dean by the fire. It’s more than a little amusing to see how Dean stops and stares at him for a moment before he takes the poncho and the rest of his clothing to start laying them out too.

He swallows, licks his lips, and tilts his head to gesture at Castiel’s state of undress. “You got anything else you can wear now?”

“No. I can take the thin blanket from the bed and use that as a wrap until everything else is dry again.”

“I’m not gonna complain if you wanna wander around in the buff.” Dean grins at him, raising one eyebrow teasingly. “Or you could just wear some of mine. I’ve got spare underpants and an extra set of sweats if you don’t mind wearing something that isn’t – I dunno – _natural_ or whatever you call it.”

Castiel looks at the bag sitting against the wall. The only thing that appeals to him about wearing Dean’s clothing is that it’s _Dean’s_ clothing. It would be like wrapping himself in Dean’s scent, marking himself in more than just the bruised kisses Dean leaves on his skin. That thought alone has his feathers rustling and his wings twitching against his back.

“I’m going to take a hot shower to warm up.” Dean announces, picking up the bag and pulling a few things out. He tosses them on the table and shoulders the bag. “Help yourself to any of that. I’ll be out of the shower soon – join me if you want to.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t fit with my wings. I’m sure you’ve already done the spatial math when you were in there before.” Castiel muses, picking through the clothing. There are a few pairs of loose pants and he has no interest in the shorts to wear under them. It would just feel bulky. If it’s not a qaa, then he won’t wear any under clothing at all.

Dean laughs his way into the bathroom and he leaves the door open. Castiel picks out the softest pair of pants from what Dean left for him and it takes a little adjusting to get use to the feeling of them once they’re on. He doesn’t feel like he needs to bathe to warm up, but Castiel still wants to remain clean. He heats a pot of snow on the stove and finds a cloth. While Dean showers, Castiel wipes down by the fire as quickly and completely as he can.

“You should’ve told me that’s what you were gonna do.” Dean whines when he comes out of the bathroom in nothing but another pair of loose pants. “I would’ve wiped down with you instead.”

Castiel hums and tilts his head to bare the side of his neck while he runs the cloth over it. “It’s quite the loss, I’m sure.”

“Don’t start with the sassing.” He grumbles, throwing his bag down in the corner. “Cop an attitude with me and I’m not gonna preen your feathers. You’ve got a couple out of place. Probably from when that beast dumped the snow on us.”

“Even if I sass you, you’ll still preen them for me.” Castiel murmurs, tilting his head the other way to move the cloth over his other shoulder. He’s well aware that Dean will take any and all excuses to touch his wings. It’s a fact that he exploits to its full extent.

Dean snorts a laugh and drops down next to him. “You seem pretty sure of that, huh?”

Castiel flares one of his wings until he can drape it over Dean’s lap and gives him a small smile. “Prove me wrong.”

There’s a moment where Dean hesitates, where he and Castiel share a challenging look. It doesn’t last long. With a sigh, Dean drops his gaze to Castiel’s wing and starts raking his fingers through the feathers with a small smile curling the corners of his lips. Every time a feather is brushed into place, Castiel hums a pleased sound. Before Dean starts on the other wing, they move from beside the fire to the nest.

The blanket is still damp but the room is warm enough that they don’t need it right away. Castiel is content to stretch out on his stomach and fold his other wing across Dean’s lap while he sits next to him. Dean carefully strokes his hands through it, watching every movement with reverence. Every touch Dean gives him is so tender – the most caring Castiel has had since he was a child. He never wants to give these – or Dean – up.

x

“Dean.” Cas yawns a while later when Dean’s zoned out to the point that he’s just petting his wings, not really thinking about anything except how much he likes touching them and how much he likes being here with Cas. Another yawn stops Cas from saying his name again.

“Yeah?” Dean asks, lifting Cas’s wing a little so he can slip under it and stretch out on his back next to him. Cas keeps his wing over him and it’s just as warm as any blanket.

“Are you hungry?”

“Not really.” He shrugs and turns on his side, tucking an arm under his head while he looks at Cas. It’s probably a little after noon right now and he’s worked up enough of an appetite that he _could_ eat – if he wanted to. But that means getting up and right now he really doesn’t want to. “You?”

Cas shrugs and turns on his side too, wiggling closer across the bed so he can tuck himself up against Dean’s chest. “Maybe later.” He tilts his head back and kisses Dean’s chin. “I’m too comfortable to move right now.”

Smiling, Dean dips his head to steal a kiss. “Yeah, me too. Seems like we’re falling into habit here.”

Not that he minds, really. Cas is the only person he can remember getting this kind of cuddly with. Falling asleep with his ex-girlfriends after fucking really isn’t his idea of a good snuggle, and going to sleep next to Sam as a kid wasn’t anything like this. Funny how Dean didn’t know he was missing this until Cas gave it to him.

They stay wrapped up in each other, barely talking and sometimes kissing for another hour at least. Cas is kind of obsessed with the tattoo and Dean is more than happy to tilt his head back and let him kiss, lick, nuzzle, or do whatever the hell he wants to it. He kind of really loves the feeling that Cas gives him. This must be what it feels like to be _loved_ and Dean is getting totally addicted to it.

After lunch, they curl up on the bed again. This time Dean has his most current book and Cas borrows one of the few that were brought for him. Dean had been kind of an optimist with packing them – hoping that he’d get to see Cas so he could have them. From what he can tell, Cas doesn’t have much time in between training, eating and sleeping. But it can’t hurt to have something to read in his down time, can it?

The blanket is dry by the time they’ve had supper and Cas drags it back to the bed, tucking them in with their books. It’s nice. Dean’s spent more than a few nights over the last month going to bed and reading alone. It’s better to have a warm body next to him, a wing thrown over him as Cas stretches out on his stomach and tucks a pillow under his chest.

When they’re both finally ready to try going to sleep, Cas curls against his back and litters his neck in gentle kisses that chase all sorts of tingles down Dean’s back. But Dean isn’t thinking about sex. This whole thing with Cas was never about the sex – even if it’s a little hard for him to adjust to thinking like that. Dean’s only ever known his relationships to be almost completely physical. This – _this_ is well beyond that in every way, shape and form. Sure, he wouldn’t mind spending the whole three days bumping uglies – but this is, yeah, this is good. This is nothing to complain about.

Plus Cas is sleeping in _his_ clothes. There’s something to be said about seeing Cas walking around in his pants and knowing the bastard isn’t wearing anything underneath them. Okay, yes, Dean could totally go for some sex right now. He’d _love_ to peel Cas out of those pants and pull him into his lap. Jesus, he would give just about anything to see Cas sweaty and gasping and knowing he’s the one who did that to him – he’s the _only_ one to _ever_ do that to him.

Cas’s breathing is evening out against the back of his neck and Dean sighs, closing his eyes and counting backwards from a hundred. There’s always tomorrow – maybe in the morning. Dean wouldn’t mind getting some more practice in on those blow jobs. He’d been worried as hell that he’d fuck up somehow since it was the first time giving one and he’s only got porn and his own experience on the receiving end to piece together how to do it. But Cas seemed to enjoy it _a lot,_ so he must have been doing a decent job of it.

Christ, he needs to stop thinking about this or he’s going to work himself up and Cas is already asleep. The counting from a hundred thing didn’t work much the first time, but he tries again working the other way. Somewhere closer to two hundred, he loses track of the numbers and the dancing firelight on the wall. It’s enough to put him to sleep.

When he wakes up, Cas is sitting next to him, gently running his fingers through Dean’s hair while he stares out at the room. Dean muffles a yawn and lifts his head to put it on Cas’s thigh. “Hey, handsome.”

Cas doesn’t look down, but he does smile and his thumb strokes the edge of Dean’s ear. “It’s snowing. I don’t think we’ll be going outside today.”

“Damn. I’m going to have to go out later and clean off my baby.” He groans and rubs his cheek against the sweatpants over Cas’s leg. “I’ll have to start her up too for a little bit. You gonna join me?”

“It’s your car.” Cas laughs, finally looking down at him. “You suffer the consequences of having one.”

Dean groans again and rolls away to sit up. “That’s not cool, man.”

The room is warmer then he’d expect it to be after a night of letting the fire burn down. Cas must have gotten out of the nest when he woke up. Makes sense, really. All their clothing that had been out next to it all night are folded nicely and piled on the table. Dean rubs his hands over his face and stretches his arms above his head until his spine cracks.

Cas leans forward and presses kisses to his shoulders, his wings folding forward and around him. “What else would you like to do today?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Dean murmurs, rolling his shoulders back into the kisses. “I kinda wanna show you my camera. We could read more, watch one of the shows I have on the laptop? See what else we can find around here?”

And there’s always the slightly more sordid options, but Dean keeps those to himself for now. If it happens, it happens. But Cas doesn’t touch him with that intent. He’s learned that much about him by now. Cas touches for the sake of touching, for the sake of being close to him. Sex is just one of the things that could happen, but it’s not his goal. Dean understands that and he’s trying like hell not to get turned on every single time Cas slides his hands around his hips to spread them wide across his stomach when he holds him from behind.

“There are some boxes in the cupboards that don’t look like food. I didn’t say anything about them earlier because I got distracted by the cans.” Cas moves to kneel behind him, resting his chin on his shoulder. “Perhaps you could take a look at those?”

Dean does take a look later, after he’s let himself lean back into Cas’s chest and just enjoy  the moment for a while. He looks in the cupboard while Cas is dealing with breakfast and he laughs hard enough he nearly falls back on his ass. One of the bottom cupboards is stocked with board games and a pack of cards. _This_ is going to be one hell of an interesting day if he’s going to get to teach Cas how to play them, and maybe he can see just how good that poker face really is. He takes those out and leaves them on the table as a reminder.

After breakfast, Dean gets out the camera. They arrange each other on the bed again and he walks Cas through what every button does. Cas spends a good hour flipping through all the photos over and over again, lingering on the ones from his birthday party with Sam and Jess. It’s the first time he’s seen them and Dean tries not to wonder if he’ll ever get to introduce them to Cas. If he knows his family, they’ll likely try and stalk him back to Cas’s place one day just for the opportunity.

When the camera goes off while he’s bending over to toss some wood onto the fire, Dean realizes he might have created a monster. Cas grins at him from the bed and takes another picture, and another. And he takes about fifty pictures over the next twenty minutes while Dean moves around the room. Dean tries introducing him to the ‘selfie’ but Cas refuses it.

“I don’t want to take a picture of myself unless you’re in it too.” Cas shrugs, flicking through the pictures he just took. “You photograph very well, Dean.” There’s a sulky quality to his voice and Dean almost goes for the photo album tucked at the bottom of his bag and wrapped in his favourite sweater.

“Then make use of that timer function. Put it on the table and we can take a few pictures together that aren’t selfie shots like that one I have on my phone.” Dean gestures at the table and the game boxes. “Heck, there’s a video function too if you want to record something. You could make a little video to tell Sam and Jess ‘hi’, if you want.”

He regrets saying that about fifteen minutes later after Cas demands they both sit together at the table with the camera propped on the boxes while he tries to make a video message for them that isn’t all kinds of awkward. After a dozen or more false starts, Dean’s pretty sure there isn’t any possible way to record this without it being ridiculously awkward. Especially with him sitting to one side slouched in his seat with his arms crossed.

“This is not going well.” Cas huffs, wings fluttering. “What am I doing wrong?”

Dean shrugs and reaches out to reset the camera again. “You’re forcing it. Everything is too stiff. Y’gotta be – I dunno, y’gotta be loose and carefree about it? If you think about it too much, it’s going to suck right from the get go.”

“Then you start it.” Cas waves a hand at him, and his lips are doing that thin thing they do when he’s starting to get frustrated.

He laughs and starts the recording again. It doesn’t matter that he gets a little over the top with his choice of words and gestures. They’re grandiose and perfect for getting Cas to relax. Cas starts smiling when he has to duck out of one of Dean’s wider flailings. He actually laughs when Dean nearly falls out of his chair, reaching out to grab him by the shirt and haul him back into place.

After the introductions are made and everything is explained, Cas gets a little more serious. It’s nothing big, but he does thank Sam and Jess for being so supportive of them. Hell, he even thanks them for encouraging Dean to make a move. It’s got Dean blushing and stammering at the edge of the camera, grasping for some way to get Cas to shut up. All Cas does is smile at him and curl a wing around his shoulder to pull him closer when Dean makes an attempt to get up.

“Thank you.” Cas says sincerely and it takes a moment for Dean to realize that he’s not looking at the camera anymore but actually looking at _him_. “For everything.”

Fuck. Dean doesn’t care if it’s on camera. It’s not like Sam hasn’t (accidentally) seen him do more than kiss before. He leans into Cas, brings a hand to his cheek, and kisses him. Cas smiles into it and his other wing folds forward too, shielding them both for the camera. When Dean moves from his chair to Cas’s, he turns the camera off, nearly knocking it off the boxes in the process. It’s not easy to maneuver himself into Cas’s lap when there’s wings and chairs and they’re basically locked together at the lips.

Kissing is great, no word of a lie, but Dean runs hot almost constantly and it doesn’t take long for him to want to give his thanks too. And he’s so much better at actions than he is with his words. He gets that extra practice he was hoping for right then, though he does hit his head on the table trying to make himself comfortable on his knees. Cas makes a whole different set of noises when Dean swallows him down. It’s driving him crazy, like hot liquid pouring down his spine when Cas tugs at his hair, gasping and whining and it’s fucking _great_.

The best part about it is when Cas actually _wants_ to reciprocate, that he _wants_ to give back as good as he’s getting. There’s nothing better than that, really. Half the fun in getting sucked off is seeing your partner be enthusiastic about it. By then they’re back on the bed and Dean is more than happy to take a short nap right after with Cas pulled up tight against his chest, breathing hard against his shoulder.

When they finally get up a few hours later, Dean takes it upon himself to teach Cas how to play Monopoly. Cas is still obsessed with the camera and he puts it on the counter, fiddling with the settings for the timer. Monopoly doesn’t last very long. Cas calls it ‘boring’ and ‘repetitive’, and Dean agrees. It’s not much fun to play with just two people – especially when _one_ of these people is apparently some kind of strategic genius and catches on stupidly quick.

“Fuck this.” Dean grumbles, sweeping everything back into the box. “We’re going to play poker and I’m going to kick your _ass_ at it.”

Cas smiles and tilts his head, just radiating all sorts of _smug_ while he goes and resets the timer on the camera. “You can certainly try. But I guarantee that I will undoubtedly come out on _top_.”

He raises one eyebrow at the suggestive grin. “Geeze, leave you with a bunch of Hamiaah for a month and you get all _kinds_ of sassy.” Dean laughs and starts dealing. “I kind of like it. Keeps me on my toes.”

His wings get all puffy and fan out a little as he picks up the cards like Dean does. Cas takes a few rounds to get used to it and they use M&Ms as their betting chips. But then he starts getting _scary_ good at it and Dean loses most of his candies before he realizes that Cas is counting cards.

“You know, that’s called _cheating_.”

Cas shrugs and pulls the pile in the center of the table to himself. “How is it cheating if it’s something I can do in my head? To my understanding, cheating is generally done when using an external item to gain an unfair advantage.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the casinos in Vegas.” Dean grumbles, stealing all the cards back. “Let’s see how good you are at Crazy Eights with that big brain of yours.”

Turns out, he’s still _really good_. At least Dean manages to own his ass at Hungry Hungry Hippos. Cas spends half the game ranting about how physically inaccurate it is and Dean cleans up at it. They keep playing until Cas eventually wins and Dean has to immediately stop him from trying to throw the game in the fire. It’s a little hard to do when Dean’s laughing so hard he can barely stay on his feet.

By the time they turn in for the night, Cas has made a bunch of comments that keep managing to catch Dean’s attention. They’re actually pretty normal, with nothing all that odd about them, but Dean has a feeling that there’s a kind of _subtext_ to them. Cas might not mean them the way Dean’s reading into them, since there’s that whole cultural difference thing between them. If this was anyone else, Dean would be _positive_ that they’re being all subtext-y about it. But this is _Cas_. And he doesn’t do subtext.

That being said, when Cas tucks in against him and kisses the back of his neck before they go to sleep, Dean really doesn’t know whether or not Cas has actually be alluding to the fact that the next time they have sex he wants to top. Dean has been fighting with himself all day to not think about sex. There’s been _dozens_ of times where he’s wanted to reach out and pull Cas close and make him _scream_ – but he’s running on Cas’s clock here. If Cas isn’t in the mood, Dean isn’t going to make a move. Since he’s always in the mood, it’s pretty much down to Cas anyway.

For the second night in a row, Dean stays up thinking long enough to feel Cas go all loose and sleep-limp against him, breath warm on his back. If Cas really wants to top, it’s not like he’s going to say ‘no’. It’s something neither of them has experienced before. Well, not really. Not _completely_. Dean’s tried with a finger or two every once in a while, but that’s not the same as a _dick_. And Cas is definitely _way_ bigger than a frikken _finger_.

He really shouldn’t have read all those horror stories about everything that could go wrong. It’s not like he’s got a problem with the blow to his masculinity or anything. He’s never seen it like that. But Dean’s read about how much it can hurt. Even though he’s damn good at handling pain, it still scares him. The last thing he wants is to be scarred from bottoming for Cas because it hurts too much to deal with on a regular occasion. Jesus, and what if Cas pulls out with shit on his dick? _Mortifying_.

But Dean owes it to him to at least _try_. If they’re going to end up doing it tomorrow – and since it’s their last day together, he really hopes they will – and Cas asks to top, Dean knows he’ll say ‘yes’. They’ll just have to be damn sure that he’s prepped _really_ well first. He falls asleep thinking about that, and it leaves him with interesting enough dreams that when he wakes up he’s surprised to find Cas awake already and sitting next to him again.

The only difference between then and now is that Cas has the camera and he’s flicking through the pictures slowly. It’s not the only time he picks the camera up during the morning. Between spending a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom, cooking, and cleaning up all their messes, Cas keeps sitting down to scroll through the memory drive.

Every time Cas flips through the pictures, he gets more and more sulky. His wings keep curling in over his shoulders and they just droop around him. With every hour they get closer to Cas having to go back, the more Cas closes off and the more bellflowers bloom in bunches around the room.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on.

“Hey.” Dean says softly, pulling the camera out of Cas’s hand. “Go make yourself comfortable. I’ve got something for you.”

Cas gives him a woeful little look that nearly breaks his heart – like he didn’t already hate that they have to leave each other again. Dean pushes a hand through Cas’s hair, drifting his fingers down to the back of his neck to pull him in for a short kiss that turns out not to be as short as he was aiming for. Cas melts into him, grabbing handfuls of his shirt to keep him in place and wrapping his wings around him tightly.

“Trust me.” He murmurs into the kisses. “You’re going to like it. Just – just go sit and get comfortable.”

For a minute, Cas just looks at him with hooded eyes and open mouth. It takes him a moment to pull back and his wings are the last to let go. While Dean gets the book from his bag, Cas relocates the blanket and the pillows right next to the fire. He’s been sitting by it a lot and Dean thinks it has to do with where he and Balthazar sit when they’re just hanging out back at the clan, so it’s probably some kind of habit. Either that or Cas just really likes to be warm.

He settles down next to Cas and it’s no surprise that he immediately drops a wing around his shoulder and leans into his side. Cas reaches over and drags his fingers over the sweater in Dean’s lap. “Why do you have this?”

Dean shrugs and hands the bundle over. “It’s what’s inside that counts. Take a look.”

Carefully, Cas starts unfolding the sweater. Every so often he stops and looks up at Dean to make sure that it’s okay to keep going. Dean nods every time until the sweater is spread in Cas’s lap. The photo-album is actually _inside_ the sweater and Cas traces the outline through the front of the shirt before he sneaks his hands under the hem to find it.

His wings flutter and flex behind them when he pulls it out. The front of the book is nondescript, just a black cover with the year stitched in gold in the top right corner. Dean pulls the sweater out of the way and tosses it back toward his bag. It’s served its purpose. Cas looks up at him with wide eyes while he turns the cover. When he looks down, he sucks in a sharp breath and his wings spread slowly.

They don’t fold back in until he’s looked through all the pictures once. There’s only a few pages, with two pictures a page. But Cas is grinning down at them like he’s looking at the face of God or something. He takes the time to trace his fingertip over each face before he sighs and closes it, spreading his hand wide over the cover. Dean nearly loses the ability to breathe when Cas looks up at him again and he’s practically glowing. He looks happier right now than he has since they woke up.

“You like it?” Dean asks, bumping their shoulders together.

Cas’s grin goes soft and warm. He leans over and breathes a ‘yes’ around a gentle kiss. There’s a couple ‘thank you’s in between each consecutive kiss and Dean gives it up for every one of them. It takes them a few dozen or more before Cas breaks away to look back down at the picutres again.

“Next time, I’ll bring all the pictures from this visit.” The smile that gets him is totally worth having to actually get pictures developed. “We can put them right here.” He reaches over and flips through the dozens of blank pages. “Think we can fill them up?”

“I would like that.” Cas murmurs, closing the book and putting it to the side.

He shifts up onto his knees and swings a leg over Dean’s lap until he’s straddling it. Dean turns them carefully so Cas’s wings aren’t at any risk of flapping into the damn fire. Cas cradles his face between his hands and keeps murmuring things in Enochian. The only word Dean recognizes is _micaloz_ between the kisses Cas drops over and over to his lips. It doesn’t take long for Cas to start pulling Dean’s shirt off and micaloz gets repeated more and more often as soon as the star is revealed.

When Cas’s feathers slip across the bare skin of his back, folding around him in a tight blanket, it’s like being assaulted with sensation. They’re sleek and slick, like an oil spill across his back without the gross feeling afterwards. Cas arches into his hands when he sinks his fingers into the downy base of his wings just to hold on and try to give some of that sensation back. He thinks about telling Cas how the book was Jess’s idea, but at this point it really doesn’t matter.

Cas breaks away from the kisses to practically nuzzle into Dean’s neck. He keeps kissing at the star and Dean laughs at the little kitten licks he gives, tongue flicking out against the tattoo. Getting that done was probably the best idea he’s had in a long time. It gives Cas one hell of an excuse to have an obsession with his chest. Especially when Cas pushes him down and curves his wings over them like a little cave. Every time he does this, Dean’s pulse kicks up a few notches.

But this isn’t the first time they’ve been in this position over the last few days. Dean knows better than to let his downstairs brain take any kind of control right now. Cas is probably just touchy feely because he’s happy with the gift. That doesn’t mean they’re going to fuck like bunnies – no matter how badly he wants that. Which is exactly why Dean keeps his hands in a neutral placement on Cas’s back, keeping them just in the feathers and not going anywhere near the oil glands that make Cas go wild.

How long is it going to take for him to get used to this whole thing between them not being just about the sex?

“Dean.” Cas murmurs his name along his collarbone, pausing every so often to suck little marks into his skin. “Dean. Dean.” He follows the line of his throat up to his jaw and mouths at his ear. “ _Dean_.”

“I’m right here, Cas.” Dean says softly, running his hands up and down his spine. It makes Cas’s wings break above them, folding and twitching against his back. From the corner of his eye Dean sees red carnations growing everywhere. And this time he actually knows what they mean.

When Cas lifts his head to actually kiss Dean properly, he looks like he’s caught between being happy and sad. He kisses with a desperate edge, holding on tighter wherever he manages to get his hands. It takes hands in Cas’s hair, fingers stroking gently to get him to stop looking like he’s on the verge of tears with a smile on his face. Doing that brings Cas more heavily against him and that’s enough for Dean to notice what’s going on downstairs.

Holy shit, Cas is _hard_. Do sentimental gifts get him off? If that’s the case, Dean is going to pull out every stop in the playbook. Or it could just be the kissing, or the position, or Dean’s fingers in his feathers. Okay, so really it could be any number of reasons. Point is, Dean’s been half hard since Cas climbed into his lap but he’s not going to push this. It could be a natural reaction or something. It doesn’t mean that Cas actually _wants_ –

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Cas whispers against his mouth, cutting through the sounds of the fire and their breathing and the little hushing sounds Dean’s been making.

“What am I supposed to be doing?”

“I –” He loses his place in a kiss that sears through Dean and gets Cas’s point across pretty damn well until he pulls back again. “I prepared myself for you earlier. I was sure you would have taken the chance for _more_ by now.”

 _Oh_.

Yes. God, yes, _please_. Dean takes a deep breath and slides his hands a little further into the downy feathers under his wings, fingertips grazing the glands. If Cas took the time to prep himself, then this is something he wants and there’s no point in asking about it right now, is there? There’s no need for more words like that – just their names whispered heatedly between them and slow strokes of hands over bodies to pull away the last of their clothes.

He spends what feels like hours making sure Cas is properly prepped with the closest thing they have on hand – the oil straight from the glands on his back. Dean wants to get up and find a condom somewhere in his bag, but it’s too far and Cas keeps murmuring that he doesn’t care – that he wants to be _closer_.

Cas is the one who shoves Dean’s hands away and sits back over his hips. His wings spread out, twitching hard when he reaches back to guide Dean in. The crazy thing about all of it is that Cas doesn’t stop watching him. He’s got his eyes locked on Dean, even while he’s gasping and rocking his hips in little circles, sinking down and getting used to him.

That isn’t close enough. Dean pulls Cas back down above him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders to hold him there. Cas stays on his knees and elbows, breathing hard against Dean’s lips and even that close he’s still watching him. Dean braces his feet on the ground and rocks his hips up to meet every roll of Cas’s body.

They move together like that for ages and Dean feels like he’s burning from the inside out. He tries not to think about how _different_ this is. It’s not all that different from the first time they did this – it’s different from _everyone else_ that Dean’s been with before. This isn’t sex. This is the closest thing to make – to _making_ – Jesus, he can’t even fucking _think_ it. But this is this most tender sex he’s ever had and he’s pretty convinced that this is exactly what it’s going to be like with Cas every single time. Dean could totally get used to this tender lo– _lov–_ Nope. Still can’t think it. His brain trips up over those words no matter how hard he tries to push past it.

There are still some words that scare the ever loving _fuck_ out of him. Words he doesn’t want to use because if he thinks them too much, or even dares to say them, they might get taken away. He’s said it to others before, and they all left him. Dean doesn’t want Cas to leave too. He doesn’t want anything to take Cas away and if that means having to keep those words buried deep despite how they’re pounding in his chest with every heartbeat, warming him from the inside out, then that’s what he’s going to do.

Cas comes with a whimper that Dean lifts his head to swallow in a kiss. His hips stutter to a stop and his wings arch out across the room, twitching as his feathers spread. Liquid heat pools on Dean’s stomach and he closes his eyes, trying to breathe and wait for Cas to decide what to do next. He doesn’t have to wait long. Cas starts rocking again, slow and steady. He’s kissing Dean with purpose, with _heat_ ,and those red carnations are spreading everywhere outside the edge of Dean’s vision.

He tries grabbing Cas’s hips – tries making him stop before he comes. Cas only grins against his mouth and bears down. That tight burning that usually starts slow in Dean’s fingertips to spirals inwards kind of just _snaps_ into place, taking Dean by surprise. By then he doesn’t care that he’s coming _in_ Cas. All that matter is that Cas is right there to kiss away every little noise that manages to choke its way out of him.

It takes a while for them to catch their breath afterwards. Cas slips off him, laying pressed up tight against his side with a wing folded over them both. Dean keeps an arm locked around his shoulder, angling it to keep lazily running his fingers through Cas’s feathers or his hair. This is good. This _feels_ good, and right, and Dean doesn’t want to have to give it up just yet. But they’ve only got a few hours left at best and if that isn’t a mood killer, he doesn’t know what is.

“Dean.” Cas murmurs, shifting against him. “Thank you.”

He laughs and turns his head to press a kiss to his forehead. “You don’t have to thank me for sex, Cas. I’m ready for it practically twenty-four-seven. You just give me the go ahead and we could do that any time. But when you’re cleaning that out, thanking me is gonna be the last thing on your mind.”

“You don’t have to wait for me.” Cas says softly, shifting against him. “You are very arousing and I can be ready in a matter of minutes if you’d only tell me when you’re interested. I like seeing the difference in you when we’re like this. I want to be close to you and this is the closest I can physically get.” He squirms again and makes a frustrated noise. “I didn’t anticipate that it would feel this weird. How am I supposed to clean up?”

Dean can’t help it, he laughs again and this time it doesn’t stop. He tries to explain to Cas through the giggles, but the instructions come out stuttered and broken. At least Cas doesn’t get mad at him for it. If anything, Cas looks _pleased_ that Dean is laughing and he joins in too with his little rumbling chuckles. They lie together on the floor, shaking with laughter and Dean would find it weird that they’re both naked and there’s spunk cooling on his stomach, but nothing really feels weird with Cas.

Maybe that’s why a few hours later when Silvanus shows up and Dean loads everything into his car, he’s kind of okay with this. Nothing’s ever been _normal_ between them. Why should their relationship be any different? Sure, he’s sad they didn’t get very long to spend together this time around, or that they don’t get to see each other as often as they want to. But if every time Cas told him he loved him while they were together means anything, then he’s okay with that. Because he feels the same.

For the first time in a long time when he drives away from Cas, Dean is completely confident in how they feel for each other. He still has that little tug in his chest that tries calling him back to where Cas is standing in front of the cabin next to Silvanus and waving goodbye. That’s normal because he doesn’t want to leave. But it’s okay because he’s confident as hell that he and Cas can handle whatever the clan, the war, hell – whatever the whole damn _world_ throws at them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Bellflower: disappointment, loss  
> \- Red Carnation: deep romantic love, passion
> 
> Due to unforeseen time crunches and monetary circumstances, the art will be delayed until further notice. If you're interested, you should definitely go buy a commission from [Mari](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com/post/75659575918/seraphlimonade-hi-limoncellos-im-opening). Go do it, please! It would really help her out! 


	41. Missions Over Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As long as you’ll have me.” Dean answers without hesitation and Castiel ducks his head. He may be alone at the moment, but he can still feel his face heat up. “Just call me up when you’re heading back to the clan and I’ll meet you at the cabin. My schedule is pretty damn flexible.” He pauses for a moment before laughing. “Shit, now I’m getting all antsy. Hurry up, Cas. I wanna see you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Rather than stretch his wings and fly back to the clan on his own, Castiel chooses to ride Silvanus through the forest instead. It’s nice to get to spend some time with him, even if it’s just moving together between the trees. He misses him and wishes that Silvanus could stay for longer at the clan without the disapproval they would undoubtedly get for it. No one would outright tell Silvanus to leave, but Castiel would have to deal with the unrest it would cause long after he’s left.

When he finally dismounts outside the caves, the sun has long set and the stars light the night sky. He wraps his wings around Silvanus’s head as he hugs him, not wanting to say goodbye just yet. “Stay for a while. I’ll get my mabza and we can talk.”

 **I would enjoy that.** Silvanus rumbles, nuzzling Castiel with his nose before settling himself against the cliff wall to wait.

Balthazar isn’t in their resting cave when Castiel ducks inside to get his mabza and some extra blankets. He must be in the main cavern, or maybe his division was sent out on a mission. Castiel will ask about him should Balthazar not come back before he turns in for the night. Raphael never instructed him to report his return, but the sentries will have likely already seen him and sent the message back to the clan.

While wrapped in his mabza and blankets, Castiel reclines against Silvanus’s side and watches the stars through the clouds. The photobook Dean gave him remains tucked inside his clothing, its hard edges digging into his chest. Their parting earlier wasn’t sad, but Castiel still hopes to see him a gain soon and that a day will come when they won’t have to part at all.

Silvanus’s tail brushes over his legs after a while. **Do you have much more training to do, Qaal?**

“No.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. There won’t be time for wishful thinking starting tomorrow. “I have a mission.”

 **Is it one I could join you on?** Silvanus asks slowly, nudging him with his cheek. There’s hope in his voice and Castiel turns a sad smile to him.

“I’m afraid not.” Absently, he runs a hand over Silvanus’s nose in an attempt to soothe the sadness seeping into their bond. “Who would protect the forest while you’re gone? And you’re so large, how would we ever sneak up on the Hamiamma?”

With a loud snort, Silvanus nearly knocks him over when he tosses his head and huffs. **You and your Human didn’t know I was there the other day. I can be quite sneaky, Qaal.**

“I know you can.” Castiel laughs again and fans one of his wings to knock him in the side of the head. “But you know it’s not feasible for you to join my mission. Maybe one day.”

Silvanus snorts again, but he rests his chin on his paws again and doesn’t push the subject. They sit together in silence until the moon is high in the sky. After the changing of the sentries, Balthazar returns to the cave - answering the question of where he’d been. Castiel chooses then to return inside with him, bidding Silvanus goodbye on the steps in front of the cave. He knows Silvanus won’t stay the night, but it was good to spend some time with him before his mission.

The others who share their cave are already tucking themselves into their own nests and Castiel tries to be as quiet as possible while he renews his own and finds a secure place to hide the photobook. Unfortunately, he doesn’t hide it fast enough from Balthazar’s prying eyes.

“What’s that?”

“You shouldn’t be in my tent unannounced.” Castiel hisses over his shoulder, spreading his wings to hide his hands as he tucks it carefully into his bags.

He’s still undecided about whether or not he should bring it on his mission. There’s the possibility that it could get damaged during the course of the assignment, but there’s also the possibility that it could be stolen here. Theft within the clan is minimal, but he wouldn’t be surprised if someone took the opportunity. It would just be another way for them to show that they don’t want him here.

Balthazar ignores his words and steps fully inside. “What gift did your Dean give you this time? Another book?” He leans over Castiel’s shoulder, trying to get a better look. “Show me, Cassie. Show me or I’ll make a fuss about that hickey on the side of your neck.”

Blackmail aside, there really is little point in trying to hide it from him. The moment Castiel leaves on his mission tomorrow, Balthazar will likely dive into his belongings to find it – if he doesn’t take it with him. And to be completely honest, Castiel would rather like to show him what Dean looks like. A strange sort of _pride_ edges into him when he sits back and opens the book for him, growing glowing lichen all along the wall behind his nest for Balthazar to see by.

“That’s him?” He asks, crouching next to Castiel and squinting at the pictures. “Should I be worried that he looks exactly as you described him? It’s a little creepy, Cassie.” He even pokes the hickey Dean left on the side of Castiel’s neck for good measure, perhaps checking to see if it’s real.

“I’m just good with my words.” Castiel huffs, shutting the book with a snap and putting it away. He flares his wings again to make Balthazar step back. “I need to sleep. Tomorrow is my first mission.”

“Mine too.” Balthazar grumbles, standing and stretching. “We already got our orders. Too bad I’m not going on the same one as you. How hard do you think it would be to get switched to your garrison? At least with you I wouldn’t have to work so hard.”

Castiel smothers a laugh as he climbs into his nest. “You wouldn’t want to be under my command. I’ve heard that I can be rather strict.”

“That’s only because those bastards don’t give you the respect you deserve.” He hisses, speaking in a harsh whisper so the others don’t hear them. “Don’t let them get the best of you on your assignment, Cassie. Uriel can keep them all under his thumb until the mission is complete, but I wouldn’t trust _him_ any further than I could throw him.”

He has nothing to say in response to that and Balthazar knows it. Castiel has confidence in Uriel to do his job as he’s directed, but aside from Balthazar, no one in the clan fully holds his trust. It’s hard sometimes, but it’s not all that different from the decades when he lived alone. This shouldn’t be something that he’s used to, but it is and Castiel manages with it just fine.

Balthazar retires to his own tent after that and Castiel focuses on making himself fall asleep. It’s an easy enough thing to do, though he doesn’t feel like he slept enough by the time he gets up before the sun. Even Balthazar grumbles his way through their morning rituals. Castiel has to meet with Raphael and be debriefed on his mission before he can pack. Balthazar is already prepared and his garrison is already starting to gather on the plateau in front of the caves when they head outside.

To Castiel’s surprise, Raphael is waiting with them. They stand together until Balthazar’s group has taken off and they watch them soar towards the end of the valley. Even after a few minutes of silence, Castiel doesn’t dare say anything before the Iaidon does. He nearly flinches when Raphael clears his throat but composes himself quickly. There is no room for error in devoting everything to memory.

“Take twenty warriors from your garrison and follow the river to the coast. Continue north and you will find a town. Our sources say this town is filled with Hamiamma and they have been gathering there for months.” Raphael spills the information without heed and gives Castiel a long look of warning. “It is our suspicion that they are there to welcome a landing party for Lucifer. You are tasked with destroying them. Leave one survivor and find out all that you can from them. If it’s true and Lucifer is sending his forces, send your fastest flyer here for reinforcements. I will send the rest of your garrison and any that I can spare. We cannot let them establish a foothold on our lands.”

After a moment’s pause, Raphael wings twitch against his back and his expression turns scrutinizing. “Am I understood, Castiel?”

He bows and angles his wings to dip in submission. “Yes, Iaidon. I understand. We will be ready to leave before the sun is over the mountains.”

True to his word, Castiel gathers twenty warriors and they rush to pack their bags, gathering the canvases they will need to bring to form their shelters. They need clothing warm enough to withstand the colder temperatures, a bed roll, blankets and provisions. During the winter there is little point of roosting in the branches of the trees. If anything, they are more obvious in the naked trees than they are grouped around their bases. Granted, there might not even be any forests around the town they’ll be going to.

With everything they have to carry, it takes a few days to reach the coast. Half the trip is spent walking to give their wings a rest during the day and flying at night, stopping only to sleep for a few hours at a time. They’ve been trained to function on less sleep and the healers among them can boost their energy for short periods. Castiel only pushes them to go a little faster or a little farther when he knows they can take it. He doesn’t want them to be exhausted when they reach their destination. It would be detrimental to their ability to carry out the mission.

But even Castiel is relieved when they finally find the town hidden against the cliffs that line the coast. It’s old, even by Hamiaah standards, and from a distance it looks abandoned. But Castiel is certain this is the one Raphael was speaking of. He said it would be a town to the north and this was the first they came to. If he’s wrong, they’ll find out soon enough.

Castiel selects two scouts and sends them to check the town as stealthily as they can. In the meantime, the rest of his group looks for the perfect place to make their camp. The main forest ends far from the coast and there are two few trees around to risk setting up their shelters amongst them. Eventually they need to concede to leaving the sparse tree line and taking camp in a boulder-strewn bay down the coast. The cliffs hide them from the town and they can use the boulders and walls around them to take off quickly if need be.

Before they clear anything or set up their shelters, they wait for the scouts to return. It makes no sense for them to go to the effort of setting up their camp only to find out that this is the wrong town and they’ll need to move. They crouch in groups between the boulders, staying out of the wind while they eat and warm themselves with the canvases they’ve carried.

When the scouts return, they’re given dinner and blankets are thrown over them to warm their wings. They confirm that this is the right town and it most certainly is not abandoned. There was smoke in the chimneys and they heard many things that no Human should know. One of them had even heard someone mention Lucifer’s name in conversation.

Satisfied that they have the right location, Castiel begins directing the building of their camp. They start with clearing the snow and setting up their tents and shelters around the boulders, piling the snow to create walls that keep out the wind. The fires they build for warmth and cooking are kept small, and mirlonsa like Castiel provide fresh, dry tinder. The roofs of their shelters break the smoke and the wind tears it apart long before it can ever get high enough to be seen from the town.

After picking a few guards to watch over their camp, Castiel issues the command that the rest sleep while they can. They already all know his plan anyway. First they’re going to watch the town for a few days to get a better understanding of their opponents. Hamiamma have powers of their own. If he’s not careful, Castiel’s decisions could unleash another earthquake like what caused his self-imposed exile in the first place. He’s not going to outright attack a town if there are Humans in it, let alone without an knowing what weapons they have - and he needs to see the lay of the land before a proper plan can be decided.

Castiel takes part in the first watch, selecting for himself a position between the rocks where he can watch the mouth of the bay while still being hidden. His black wings help blend him into the surroundings better than the others who have to cover theirs with dyed blankets while they watch for signs of their enemies.

The time passes slowly, but Castiel has gotten used to this again. There were times in his training where they practiced being on look out. They were never his favourite exercises. After living on his own for so long, Castiel has gotten accustomed to making the most out of his time. He only had so many hours during the day to get everything done that he had to do that standing around and doing nothing during training was like an itch under his feathers that he couldn’t scratch.

Even if he doesn’t move for most of the night, Castiel still thinks. He plots out a half dozen different ways he could destroy the town – though it can barely be called that. There’s only a few dozen buildings and from what he had seen, some of them weren’t even habitable. Over the next few days, he watches the town. More Hamiamma come in vehicles like Dean’s, but those never stay. The people get out and the vehicles leave them behind, taking a road that cuts through the cliff itself.

By the time he’s ready to put one of his plans into effect, Castiel has the sneaking suspicion that the people in the town are not a welcoming party. His plan starts in the middle of the night, long after anyone would have gone to sleep. The Hamiamma have a few guards stationed around the town, but Castiel’s warriors are fast, silent, and clever. Using their odlonshin now would be too obvious for this stage of the plan.

The first they deal with are the guards. Those must be dealt with silently, their heads removed in one quick swipe. Whether they be Hamiamma or one of their monstrous breeds of children, removing the head is the best method of handling them until they can properly dispose of the bodies. One of the guards is left alive though unconscious, caught and bound before he can make a sound. He’s taken back to their camp and left with one warrior to watch over him. The second half of the plan is far more difficult, but Castiel is confident that his warriors are strong enough to deal with it.

When he was told that they were coming to the coast, he had decided it would be best if half his team are sobamlonsa. With their ability to control water, they are invaluable to his plan. He chose a few orrilonsa from his garrison as well and those earth-shifters stand on the cliffs above the town. Their task is to cause a rockslide to block the road. It will have to big enough that none will be able to escape from the storm the sobamlonsa create.

Anyone else with differing odlonshin focuses on lending theirs to the sobamlonsa. It takes much time, concentration and power to summon a storm strong enough to break the ice on the water and bring in a tidal wave. Lights are turning on in the town below by the time the storm has reached its peak. Castiel is starting to feel the drain, but the waves are rolling higher and higher, crashing through the icy build up until there is nothing left to cut them in half.

He holds his breath and watches, transfixed, as the cliff walls crumble into the road under the guidance of the orrilonsa. Moments later, the wave hits the beach, crashing over it and swallowing the town. It licks at the cliff walls before receding only for another to take its place. Castiel’s blood is pounding in his ears with the thrill of a battle. The mock skirmishes they had during training is nothing to the real thing. He loves it for how alive it makes him feel, and he hates it. Life is sacred and he shouldn’t take any kind of pleasure in it – even if it means ridding the world of monsters.

Castiel doesn’t call for the sobamlonsa to stop until the buildings are in ruins.

Pooling their powers leaves everyone tired, but it’s a far cry better than losing more than half his warriors to exhaustion. With weapons of ice, tree, stone and fire, the Hamiaah descend upon the remains of the town in silence. They pick clean the wreckage of the buildings in search of survivors. The dead are dragged away and piled a ways up the beach where they’ll be burned in a pyre. Not many survived, and Castiel suspects that quite a few were likely pulled out to sea. He sends a few flyers to check the waters for their bodies – just in case. They can’t leave any loose ends here. Not when there’s so much for Castiel to prove to Raphael with this mission.

Some of the survivors have enough of their wits about them to fight back with Human weapons. One of the younger warriors, Hael, is shot in the arm before her sword separates a vampire’s head from his body. His hideous teeth are still bared in a snarl even after he’s dead and it only reinforces their conclusion that more than just Hamiamma were here. Hael cuts her sleeve and binds the wound with the remains. She brushes off any offer of healing until their work is done and Castiel heals her himself after the bodies have been collected and burned. It’s the best praise that he can give her for being so resilient.  

He leaves behind a group of volunteers to continue picking through the remains of the town while everyone else retires back to the camp to rest. Their captive glowers at them from where he’s been propped up in a corner, but Castiel pays him no mind. He won’t be going anywhere. That night they rest, and in the morning Castiel leaves Uriel to interrogate their prisoner while he helps the mirlonsa hide the ruins of the town. It is difficult, but within a few days they manage to degrade all the wood until it crumbles to dust. The rocks hide the rest.

When evening comes upon them again, Castiel leaves Uriel in charge for a while. He flies to the safety of the forest and finds a place to sit in the branches of a tree with his phone. Dean answers on the third ring with a sleepy greeting and Castiel feels like he can finally breathe easy again. A feeling fills his chest – like when he folds his wings just to snap them open at the last moment. It’s the feeling of flying, of _freedom_. And Dean gives that to him.

Talking to him for even as little as an hour puts Castiel in a better mood than he has been in days. Dean doesn’t push for information about his mission, though he drops the occasional question and he’s obviously curious. Of course Castiel leaves some things out when he talks about what he’s been doing. He’s fairly certain that Dean wouldn’t approve of Uriel’s methods of _torture_ to get information from their captive _._ But Dean’s curiosity keeps Castiel smiling through the entire conversation and even afterward when he returns to the camp.

“Has he said anything?” He asks of Uriel when he crouches next to him by a fire.

Uriel gives a derisive snort and passes him a bowl of the soup they’ve been eating for the last few days. “He’s _said_ plenty. None of it worthwhile. Who’d have thought there was a thing as a leech with a sense of loyalty?”

Castiel glances at their prisoner. From the identification they found in his pockets, his name is Luther. He hopes Luther talks soon. It will bring him a quicker end. Uriel will resort to worse tortures soon enough and Castiel can barely bring himself to be around for what he’s done so far. But he _needs_ to be here. If Luther says anything important, as the goholor of this excursion he should be one of the first to know.

By the end of the week, when Luther has done nothing but laugh at them, Castiel feels like he’s reaching his breaking point. Talking to Dean every night is the only thing that’s keeping his temperament in check. The longer this mission continues to drag on, the longer it will be before he can see him again and that drives Castiel’s desires to finish this. The other members of his team are starting to get restless too, though they hide it well. They don’t like being confined to the small tents, but Castiel doesn’t want to risk the orrilonsa wasting their powers to build better stone structures if they aren’t staying here for much longer.

They’ve denied Luther blood since they captured him and he’s getting weaker by the hour. His own blood is no substitute for the living, but he still sucks greedily at his gums whenever Uriel pulls one of his fangs or teeth in an attempt to get him to talk. Even removing a few fingers has been fruitless. As Luther continuously points out, Lucifer would do so much worse to him if he said anything. But it’s only a few more days before Luther succumbs to his baser instincts. He gives them everything they want to know for the promise of blood, salivating over the cut Castiel makes on his own arm to tease him into talking.

Uriel beheads Luther before they have to make good on their promise. He wipes his sword clean with a blood stained cloth and looks up to Castiel. “I’ll take care of the body.” It’s the closest thing he can say without outright ordering that Castiel should get someone to take a message to Raphael.

Castiel finds Hael to be his messenger. Her young wings are strong and he noted she was a fast flyer during their training. Once her things are gathered, Castiel flies with her to the top of the cliffs before he gives her the message.

“Remember this in full. You cannot forget any part of this when you give it to Raphael.” He says solemnly. A written message is far too dangerous to send. “The Hamiamma in that town were expecting a ship to arrive. Not to land, but to pick them up and carry them in secret across the eastern seas. Lucifer is summoning everyone who fights for him.” Hael’s eyes widen in surprise, but she nods for Castiel to continue. “He’s having more trouble than he expected with the other clans. The ship is due in six days’ time during the night and I need to know what Raphael commands of us.”

Hael nods again. “I understand. I will return as quickly as I can.”

He wishes her luck and speed, watching until she disappears over the trees. For a while, Castiel stands on the cliff and stares out at the sea, thinking about everything he just learned from Luther. He wonders if the ship will even come. They’ve seen several vehicles come to where the town had been only to turn around and drive away again. It’s very possible that the ship has already been told that no one is going to be here. If the ship doesn’t come when it’s supposed to, Castiel will have his answer to that question.

It’s strangely comforting to know that Lucifer is having difficulty overseas. Even though he brought Gabriel’s clan to ruin, he lost a good portion of his army in doing so. And now the other clans are doing much the same as Castiel’s. They hunt every monster and Hamiamma they can find before Lucifer can gather them to his cause.

Now all Castiel and his division can do is wait. Again. At least this news brightens the spirits of his warriors. They sing and laugh into the night and Castiel watches from the edges of their group. He doesn’t particularly feel the urge to be a part of their camaraderie, but it would be rude of him to leave altogether and only come back later.

It’s barely more than a few days later when one of the sentries spots Hael’s return and she isn’t alone. She’s brought with her another dozen sobamlonsa and they set up their shelters in what space is left of the bay’s beach. It’s nice to see new faces after a few weeks of the same twenty Hamiaah, but it’s hard for Castiel to drown out the extra voices while he crouches with Hael next to a fire.

Hael holds her hands over the flames to warm them as she recounts Raphael’s simple message. “Sink the ship, leave no survivors, and return home.”

That night, Castiel tells Dean about what he has to do.

“Crack ‘er in half and sink it like the Titanic.” Dean suggests, chuckling across the line and Castiel rolls his eyes at yet another reference he doesn’t get. “Or do you have a better plan?”

“I have no plan at the moment and I’ve got only a few days to think of one. With this many sobamlonsa, a storm would be a simple enough task. How easy is it to use waves to sink your ships?”

A sharp bark of laughter marks Dean’s surprise. “Shit, Cas, I dunno. It depends on the kind of boat they’re using? Sorry, I don’t know. I’m more cowboy than pirate. Are there any lighthouses around? A tall building with a giant light bulb at the top? Usually shines out at sea?”

“No. We destroyed the only structures around for hours.”

“Well…” Dean muses quietly to himself for a moment. “If rolling a ship with waves doesn’t work, you could always try running them aground? Without a lighthouse, they’re not going to be able to see shit in the dark. If they hit a rock, they’re toast. And if anyone actually manages to make it to land, you can just pick them off on the beach.”

The suggestion has merit and Castiel is pleased with Dean’s cunning. He knew Dean was smart, but it’s nice to know that there are still things he can do that surprises him. “Thank you, Dean. I’ll speak with my division and see if it’s one they feel they can carry out. If we’re lucky and this works out, I should be back to the clan within a week.”

Dean makes a ‘whooping’ noise and Castiel smothers a smile at Bobby’s rough voice in the background telling him to keep quiet. It only makes Dean laugh. “Hell yeah, I’m looking forward  to that. I’ve already got your pictures all printed. Do you want me to bring more books? How long are we going to have this time?”

Castiel’s wings twitch and spread happily at the eager tone to his words. “I don’t know. More than three days, I’m hoping. How long can you stay?”

“As long as you’ll have me.” Dean answers without hesitation and Castiel ducks his head. He may be alone at the moment, but he can still feel his face heat up. “Just call me up when you’re heading back to the clan and I’ll meet you at the cabin. My schedule is pretty damn flexible.” He pauses for a moment before laughing. “Shit, now I’m getting all antsy. Hurry up, Cas. I wanna see you.”

A fond smile pulls at Castiel’s lips and he runs his hands over the poncho he’s wearing under his mabza. He looks at the stars through the bare branches of the tree he’s sitting in and his smile grows even more. “I miss you too, Dean.”

x

It’s been over a week since Dean left the cabin for the first time and he’s done one thing and one thing only. He’s avoided the hell out of Sam and Jess’s place and it’s for one very specific reason: the video Cas made. It’s not like Dean can just _delete_ it.

One; he really likes the video as long as he gets to keep it for himself. Two; Cas told him he wanted to know if Sam and Jess liked it. Three; Cas had asked if it was possible for them to record a reply – since he’s oh so curious about meeting and talking to Dean’s family and it’s a long way off before they’re going to be able to do that in person.

There’s probably a fourth point in there, but Dean doesn’t care to remember them all. He just knows the video is important to Cas and a little embarrassing for _him_ and he wants to keep Sam and Jess from seeing it for as long as he can. That said, it takes him about a week before he caves and goes to visit them. He can never stay away from Sammy for very long without a damn good excuse, but the straw that really broke the camel’s back was Jess. She texted him saying she was in the mood to bake pies over the weekend and Jess makes a _hell_ of a pie. Dean had no good excuse to miss out.

He’s barely in the door before they’re asking for the pictures from the trip and demanding to know how Cas is doing. A half hour and four replays later, Sam’s a little misty eyed and Jess kisses Dean on the cheek. “That’s for Castiel. Give it to him when you see him again.” Then she grins and drags Sam with her to the kitchen to record a video of their own – which turns into a walking tour of their apartment. It’s ends up being twice as long as the one Cas sent and Dean spends the whole thing lying face down on the couch, trying to figure out why his family is so fucking weird.

That’s pretty much the highlight of his time between the first cabin-visit and his next. Any time he isn’t with the Wonder Twins is spent driving back and forth across the country between their place and Bobby’s – who’s the only person that John ever actually talks to whenever he decides to call. Which, from what Bobby has said, is only twice and neither call lasted more than a few minutes. Dean always calls back and leaves a message with his phone number, but John never calls him. _Never_. It’s driving Dean up the wall, actually. If this keeps up another year, he’s going to lose whatever nerve he had to tell John about him and Cas.

After the ship sinking goes exactly according to Dean’s suggested plan, he gets to spend another ‘romantic’ week in a cabin with Cas. It’s over and gone faster than he would like and then it’s another round of the waiting game. That’s how the months pass. The longest visit they get is a week and half, the shortest is a few days, but they take whatever they can get and make the most of it between all of Cas’s missions.

Dean fucking _loves_ it when the weather starts warming up and the snow finally melts. Honestly, he was starting to get cabin fever every time they were shut up in that room for days on end. Now, with spring turning into summer, he and Cas spend whole days out in the forest, even going so far as to have actual _picnics_. At one point they even camp out. Cas teaches him all the constellations that the Hamiaah have and he isn’t even mad when Dean falls asleep listening to him whisper the stories behind each group of stars against his shoulder.

The war is still raging overseas. According to Cas, the clans over there have banded together into some kind of _super_ clan and Lucifer’s having a hell of a time trying to take them down. At least they’re doing well enough that they don’t need reinforcements from Cas’s clan – which means Cas is staying here for the foreseeable future. It seems like everyone here is doing their damnedest to root out all the Hamiamma and whatever monsters Lucifer has under his thumb. At least that’s what all of Cas’s missions have been about and Dean hopes they’re actually doing some good.

He just wants this damn war over with so Cas can go back home and they can finally have visits whenever they want for however long they want. It’s freaking depressing driving up to Cas’s place to check on it and not have Cas there for it. Cas sometimes makes him play delivery boy, getting stuff from the treehouse for him or taking things there – like the jar of oil he’d collected that he wanted Dean to use to re-oil the leathers he left covering all the openings.

Dean never spends the night there. It’s too dark and un-home-ish without Cas.

It’s late August and Dean’s knee deep in the sewers hunting a shapeshifter when his phone goes off with Cas’s ringtone. The fact that he actually gets reception in the _sewer_ of all things kind of blows his mind for a moment. But he’s never missed a call yet and he doesn’t let his current location stop him – even if it is a little weird that Cas would be calling him again after they spoke earlier that morning.

He puts the phone to his ear and steps under a storm grate, hoping that’ll help reception. “Hey Cas. What’s shaking?”

“This is not Castiel.”

In hindsight, it’s a _really_ good thing that he never got into the habit of calling Cas embarrassing nicknames. Dean nearly drops his flashlight and only just catches himself before he swears in surprise. “Raphael! Long time no see. How’s it hanging?” There is such a thing as _too_ casual, Winchester. Jesus Christ, is he _trying_ to sabotage himself here?

Raphael is quiet for way too long and Dean is starting to feel like he should apologize and ask for a do over. Before he can say anything, Raphael clears his throat and keeps on trucking like nothing ever happened. Bless him.

“Castiel has been keeping me apprised of your relationship.” He sounds like their relationship is the absolute last thing he wants to talk about. “Is he correct in saying things are going well?”

“Um, yeah.” Dean looks up at the storm grate and briefly wonders if anyone can hear him. “Doing great. Never better.” He pauses for a moment, bites his lip, and throws caution to the wind. “You don’t have to beat around the bush, y’know. If you’re calling with a job for me, I’ll take it. I told you I’d do whatever it takes to keep seeing Cas and that hasn’t changed.”

“How nice to see that your respect for authority hasn’t wavered.”

He just barely stops himself from sneering right back. “I respect the hell out of your authority. That’s why I’m keeping to all these rules you put down and why I’m cutting to the quick so you don’t have to waste your time talking to me. I don’t have a pen or paper handy, so it’s probably better that you keep it short and simple, or I might forget something.”

Raphael actually _growls_ in his ear and Dean realizes he might have crossed a line. He mutters a quick apology and shines his flashlight up and down the tunnel to distract himself from thinking about whether or not he just really fucked up all the great stuff they’ve had going for the last several months. Instead of chewing Dean out, Raphael doesn’t actually talk again. There’s muffled noises and shuffling sounds for a minute and that leaves Dean even more worried. Shit. Did his stupid mouth get Cas in trouble with his boss?

His heart nearly leapfrogs into his throat when Cas’s voice fills his ear. “Hello Dean.”

“Hi Cas – tell me quick, how badly did I fuck up?”

“It’s hard to tell. I believe he’s given up trying to talk to you at the moment.” Cas sighs and Dean wishes there was a way to reach through the phone and hug him. “You really should write down the information that he has for you. It’s important.”

Dean snorts and catches himself just before he leans back against the wall. This is one of the absolute last places on Earth that he wants to make himself _that_ comfortable. “Yeah, but that’s not really an option right now, Cas.”

“Why not? Where are you?”

“Underground.” Cas probably doesn’t know what sewers are and Dean really doesn’t feel like explaining that it’s basically where all the shit goes. “I’m hunting a shapeshifter and for some reason, it likes to hide out in literal shit holes. I’ve already come across three different sheddings and they’re all gross as hell.” They just make this whole place worse and if he didn’t have the will to match his cast iron stomach, he probably would have thrown up by now.

“Oh.” He honestly sounds surprised. Maybe it never occurred to Cas that Dean would stop a hunt for the chance to talk with him. “I – Please wait a moment, Dean.”

Like he’s got anywhere else to go. At least the shapeshifter hasn’t decided to come out of hiding right now. He’d hate to drop his cell into the river of sludge and have to abandon it, get a new one, call Cas back and try to coach him over the phone on how to change the speed dial. Cas doesn’t come back to the phone for a solid five minutes. By then, Dean’s taken to whistling the creepiest songs he can think of. If the shapeshifter hears it, he hopes it’s freaking out.

“Dean?” Cas starts and Dean cuts out on the whistling. “Raphael is going to explain your mission to me. When you’re done your hunt, can you call me?”

“Yeah, that’s doable. Should I wait until the morning? I don’t know how long I’m going to be.”

“The sooner the better.”

“Got’cha. As soon as I can, then.” There really isn’t a whole lot of time for chit chat and Dean bitterly hates it. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Cas.”

He hesitates before murmuring his own goodbye softly. “Stay safe, Dean.”

One silver stabbed shape shifter and three hot showers later, Dean finally stretches out on his motel bed and dials Cas’s digits from memory. He likes to type it himself instead of using the speed dial just to keep the number fresh in his head. Cas picks up before the first ring is finished and Dean wonders if he was waiting with the phone in his hand or something.

“Dean. How was the hunt?”

“Pretty standard. A few bruises, but nothing worse than the black eye and split lip the asshole gave me.” He shrugs and slides a little further down in the pillows, wincing at how the movement pulls at the bruises over his ribs. What the hell is with supernatural creatures and their love of _throwing_ people around rooms? He gets that enough with angry ghosts. “Did Raphael chew you out?”

Cas huffs a small little laugh. “He implied that I should train you better, but other than that I was sent away as soon as I had your instructions. Would you like them now?”

Dean groans and covers his face with one hand. He should never have gotten comfortable. Now he needs to sit up so he can actually write legibly. Cas might bitch him out if he has to call back saying he didn’t get it right. “Yeah, sure, just a second.” He rolls over onto his stomach, shoving the pillow under his chin before grabbing his notebook and pen off the bedside table. “Okay, shoot.”

In true Cas-fashion, Cas gets straight to the point. “One of our contacts has heard of a rumour that there is a company in a city called New York and it is staffed with Hamiamma and their children – specifically with werewolves and vampires. According to the rumour, the sole purpose of this company is to turn their employees and essentially force them into Lucifer’s ranks.”

“Fuck.” He nearly throws down his pen. “That sounds like one hell of a conversion camp. But what does Raphael want me to do about it?”

“He requests that you meet with some of our contacts who are already there and infiltrate the company with them. Infiltrate and exterminate – as he put it. Raphael also gave me a number for you to call. It’s for two of our contacts who are already in the company. They’ll give you the name and address.” Cas rattles off the number like it’s no big deal. “Their names are Isaac and Tamara.”

Dean circles the number and their names on his notes. “Got it. I’ll give them a call in the morning. There anything else I should know?”

“Yes.” Cas takes a small breath and his voice drops into an almost whisper. “Be careful.”

He smiles and closes his eyes, wishing Cas was here right now so he could touch him – pull him tight against his chest and whisper all sorts of promises in his ear. Dean would preen his wings and use his hands and mouth to turn Cas into a whimpering puddle. He would do his best to distract Cas completely from ever being worried about him getting hurt on a hunt. But all he has right now is his words to comfort Cas with and those are going to have to do for now – especially since Cas hasn’t really grasped the concept of phone sex and their one attempt at that didn’t really turn out so great.

They don’t talk much longer than that since it’s late for both of them. But getting to talk with Cas before going to sleep always puts Dean in a good mood for the next day – no matter what dreams happen in between. He doesn’t call Isaac and Tamara until after he’s had breakfast and by then he’s already on the road to New York. Bobby will understand why he’s ditching out on this visit.

According to Tamara – the one who answers the phone – the company is called Sandover Bridge and Iron. The tech support department has a high turnover rate and they think that has something to do with how a few of the higher ups in the chain of command are confirmed to be Hamiamma. Since Isaac infiltrated the company a month ago, he’s found out that there are definitely at least a few other types of monsters on staff. Tamara’s gotten herself in line to be hired with the next recruitment batch for tech support and they need extra help if they’re going to take this place down. Apparently Dean isn’t the only one being called in.

This is going to be Dean’s first real attempt at going undercover and he really hopes he doesn’t completely blow it. That would kind of suck. A lot. And it wouldn’t just be letting Raphael down – though Dean doubts he’s got high expectations of him. It would be failing Cas too and Dean has tried his absolute hardest to be everything that Cas needs him to be.

It doesn’t take him more than a few days to figure out why there’s such a huge turnover rate in the tech support department. Even Tamara and Isaac agree – the job fucking _sucks_. Every morning that Dean wakes up and has to go to work, he almost cries because he hates it so much. He can’t think of a job worse than this one. He’d rather be back in that damn sewer cleaning it out than having to listen to people bitch at him about how something isn’t working and they demand he fixes it but they don’t want to do what needs to be done to get it fixed. He damn near cussed someone out on his first day when they start swearing at him.

But there are definitely Hamiamma on staff. Dean makes sure of it himself. He’s never fully trusting of anyone new, even if they’re hunters or ‘contacts’ that Raphael trusts. He goes undercover as a dude named Christopher and introduces himself as Christo – explaining it away as an inside joke with his family while pretending that he doesn’t see the black-eyes.

There are other things that he uses around the office to find out that there are vampires and werewolves on the staff too. The vampires are easy enough by bringing in blood sausage to the weekly potluck (which apparently is supposed to help with employee morale) and injecting it all with some dead man’s blood. It’s not enough to completely debilitate a vampire, but definitely enough to make one sick. Not a whole lot of people actually eat it, but only some of the ones who do get sick. Oddly enough, the only thing that the people who got sick ate was the sausage and nothing else from the table.

Dean doesn’t even end up wasting time trying to figure out who the werewolves are. Tamara and Isaac are very convincing – and kinda really scary – when they tell him they already identified who those ones are. It seems those are something of a speciality of theirs and from what Dean gathers from what little they actually say about it, it has something to do with a dead daughter – if the pictures on their desks are anything to go by.

After a week of surveillance, even the other hunters agree that there’s nothing overly suspicious going on here and there’s _definitely_ nothing relating to Lucifer and the war. By then, Dean’s about ready to go all Incredible Hulk on this place. Which is exactly why he brings up the topic of _ending_ this stupid charade during a lunch break with Tamara and Isaac.

“So…” Dean clears his throat, getting their attention. “Who wants to call the big boss and give him the four-one-one?”

They both stop chewing and share a look with each other. After a moment, they finish their bites and Tamara wipes her mouth with a napkin. “My vote is on you.”

“He likes you better.” Isaac agrees and Dean nearly chokes on his roast beef sandwich.

“Like _hell_ he does.” He finally manages after about five minutes of coughing. “The only reason he’s got me doing this is because of Cas. You’re the ones who were all buddy-buddy with him before I got here. Why don’t _you_ call him?”

The bastards don’t even bother giving any kind of rebuttal. They just keep staring at him. Eating and staring and not saying anything because they’re _bastards_. Dean puts up with it until he finishes his sandwich and makes an excuse about a smoke break – even though they know he doesn’t smoke. He’s already conceded well before then that he’s going to be the one to make the phone call, but it’s not like _they_ need to know about it. Dean’s quickly learning that working with a married couple is the _worst_. They always gang up on him.

He takes ten minutes out of his lunch break to call the clan. The worst part about both him and Cas being on a mission at the same time is that Cas had to leave his phone at the clan so Dean could get a hold of Raphael if he needed to. That way Raphael wouldn’t have to go through Amelia to get messages to them – which could take hours longer and cause a hell of a lot of problems if they need to get a hold of him immediately.

Raphael doesn’t sound all that happy to hear from him. “What do you want?”

“To let you know that this isn’t a recruitment op. Not from what we can tell, at least. This job just sucks – that’s why everyone keeps leaving.” Dean checks over his shoulder to make sure no one is listening. “We want to know what you want us to do.”

“Do what you’re supposed to do, _hunter_.” He sighs, sounding like Dean just asked him about the colour of the skyk. “I don’t have to tell you how to do that, do I? Stay there another week after you’ve finished your job. Make sure that no one replaces them to continue anything underhanded. Understood?”

“Yeah, got it.” It takes all Dean has to bite out a nice goodbye before he hangs up. If he didn’t have to stay another week, he could’ve quit today and done the hunting during his usual after hours. But this means staying and dealing with the stupid tech support and – For the love of God, why would anybody actually stick around and _keep doing this_?

Cas is literally the only reason he’s still here right now and hasn’t given into his baser instinct of sassing the hell out of the customers. Dean wants to keep seeing Cas. Despite the random schedule and the distance, he’s never been happier. He’d be downright ecstatic if he could be with Cas all the time, but they’re working toward that. And the best way to get to that goal is to make Raphael trust him. That means doing what the dickhead says - even if Dean hates that a whole hell of a lot.

With Tamara and Isaac’s help, he takes out the Hamiamma one by one over the course of a week. The vampires and werewolves are _way_ easier to deal with and Dean is more than happy to call in for a sick day to take care of the vampires while they’re off work. They’re really obvious about what they are when they choose to work the night shift and never show up while it’s light out. Tamara and Isaac take care of the werewolves.

His hopes that Cas will be finishing his mission around the same time are blown out of the water when Cas calls him halfway through his last day. Dean’s takes the call in the Impala and he’s pretty fucking happy to hear from him, actually – right up until Cas tells him that he’s heading out on another mission right away and they’re not going to have the chance for a visit this time around.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dean groans, thumping his forehead against the Impala’s steering wheel. “Aren’t you supposed to get some kind of downtime? Why are you going out again so soon?”

“I’m just as disappointed as you are, Dean.” Cas sighs and Dean can definitely hear it in his voice. He sounds tired, and sad, and what the hell is stopping Dean from driving to join him on his mission? Oh right. _Raphael._ “My garrison is the only one available for a mission right now and I have to lead the division. All the others have already been sent out and the other warriors here are too young or too old to go on assignment.”

Dean rubs a hand over his face and stares at himself in the rear view mirror. “Don’t worry about it, Cas.”

“But you’re mad.” He says softly, almost like he’s scared to mention it.

“I’m not mad. I’m just – just _disappointed_ that we’re going to have to wait a little longer. But I knew what I was signing up for when I gave you that ambrosia.” That memory always brings a smile to his lips. “Don’t worry about it. Are you allowed to take your phone with you this time? It’s easier to put up with the distance when I can actually _talk_ to you.”

Cas gives a small laugh and sounds a little happier after that. “Yes, I am. Raphael doesn’t have any more missions for you when you’re done. What are you going to do afterward?”

“I guess I’ll go back to Bobby’s for a bit. Get a detox from all these people.” He fakes a shudder and smiles when Cas laughs again. The clock on the dash flashes the time at him and he winces. “Shit, Cas. I’ve got to go back to – ugh – _work_ now. You be safe, okay?”

“I always am.”

At the end of the day, Dean tells off the last person who starts swearing at him. It feels vindictively good. He salutes Tamara and Isaac on his way out the door and nearly runs to the car. Wow, quitting a shit job feels _way_ better than he thought it would. This is the first time he’s ever had the chance to do that, since he never really did that whole fast food/cashier job thing as a teenager. Back then he was too busy camping out in remote locations hunting Angels with his dad. Yeah, _fun times_ – times that Dean absolutely _does not_ miss.

Though it would be nice if John would actually contact him once in a while. Twenty-six years of hardly ever being apart and he was just left on his own? Stellar parenting. Dean kind of wishes he could actually be _angry_ at John for it. But he just misses him and he’s more than a little worried about _why_ John ditched him for over a year.

None of that changes how it would’ve been nice to have a heads up about John being at Bobby’s when Dean pulls up in the middle of a summer rainstorm (thankfully thunder free). He sheds his shirts in the back entrance on his way into the kitchen because they’re soaked. His jeans more or less survived, but they’re damp enough that he’s going to have to change out of them pretty fucking soon.

In hindsight, he really should have put on a new shirt _before_ going into the kitchen – where John and Bobby are seated at the table with beers in their hands. Dean freezes in place two steps into the kitchen with his shirts in his hands and John’s eyes locked on his tattoo.

“What the _hell_ is that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to unforeseen time crunches and monetary circumstances, the art will be delayed until further notice. If you're interested, [you should definitely go buy a commission from Mari](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com/post/75659575918/seraphlimonade-hi-limoncellos-im-opening). Go do it, please! It would really help her out!


	42. The Father, The Son, and The Holy War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hi dad.” He manages to choke out, trying for some kind of smile that probably ends up more like a shaky _I’m gonna throw up on you_ grimace. Judging by the look on Bobby’s face, that’s exactly what he managed to achieved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Dean can practically _feel_ his heart crawl up into his throat and his blood turn to ice. Strangely enough, that doesn’t stop it from pounding in his ears loud enough to drown out the rain beating against the windows. This is probably what that missed call from Bobby was all about. Fuck, shit, _fuck_. He should’ve answered it or at least returned the call or some fucking thing because this – this is all sorts of bad. This is on the level of natural disaster bad or World War Three bad.

If there was ever any way that Dean was going to tell John that he wasn’t an Angel hunter anymore, this was right down there at the bottom of the list. He was supposed to butter his dad up first. Get him in a good mood and preferably without any drinks in his system before dropping any kind of bombs. There’s a half dozen empty bottles of beer on the counter and Dean wouldn’t doubt that at least five of those are John’s. Bobby doesn’t have much of a taste for beer.

He doesn’t need to take his eyes off John to know that Bobby is just as acutely aware of how badly the shit is going to hit the fan. It’s gonna get messy whether Dean says anything or just continues standing here in his half naked glory staring at his dad with his best impersonation of a fish out of water. No, this is _not_ how Dean wanted to see John again. He wanted to be all calm and cool so John wouldn’t think that that Dean spent any time floundering without him.

There’s some kind of war going on behind his ribs. Dean isn’t sure if he’s actually happy to finally see his dad (alive) again, or if he’s scared shitless because _oh God he’s gonna die._ How in the hell is he going to walk away from this without some kind of mental (or even _physical_ ) scarring? The chances of that are slim to none and Dean might as well dive in headfirst. It’s not like he’s got any other choice.

“Hi dad.” He manages to choke out, trying for some kind of smile that probably ends up more like a shaky _I’m gonna throw up on you_ grimace. Judging by the look on Bobby’s face, that’s exactly what he managed to achieved.

John doesn’t even acknowledge it. He just points at the tattoo and continues like Dean didn’t say a thing. “Why did you cover up your hunter’s mark with _that_?”

Dean shrugs and desperately tries to think of the best way to hide the tattoo without being really obvious about it. Right now he’s only got his soaking wet shirt in his hand and it’s not like he can just put it back on or lift it to cover his chest without looking like a violated woman or something. He’s got to do this right or he’s totally going to fuck up one of the few familial relationships he has left - regardless of how stretched thin that connection is right now.

“Well -” He shrugs and glances at Bobby like he might have something to offer. Bobby is tight lipped and glancing between them like he’s trying to figure out when he should duck for cover. Dean sighs and continues – with just a hint of bitter to his voice. “- you know all those messages I’ve been leaving for you? That’s because there’s something I need to tell you.”

Nobody in the room misses how John’s knuckles go white around his beer bottle. He’s never handled any kind of attitude from Dean well. Usually Dean wouldn’t dream of being anything but completely respectful to him. Maybe it’s because of the year he spent thinking John ditched his ass for good that he finally feels like he has the balls to stand up for himself and actually say what’s on his mind. Of course the moment John stands up, Dean feels like he’s nine again and just snapped back at his dad for saying that they were moving again when Sammy was just starting to get used to his school.

Before John can say anything, Bobby is on his feet too and he’s got a hand on his shoulder. “John, sit your ass down and listen to the boy. Dean, go get changed.”

Thank you Great Pie In the Sky, Dean isn’t going to have to deal with this alone. He’s got Bobby and there isn’t enough time in the world to thank him for all the help he’s going to be right now. Without the need for anymore instruction, Dean tries to be totally casual in leaving the room before he bolts up the stairs to the spare room that is unofficially (though it basically is) his.

He digs his phone out of his pocket and leaves it on the dresser while he sheds his jeans and dumps everything in the hamper. Dean grabs a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, pulling those on while he hops back down the hall to the stairs. When he gets back to the kitchen, the only chair open for him is the one opposite John – the one Bobby had previously been occupying. He’s sitting at the open end of the table, conveniently placing both the table and himself between Dean and John. If he didn’t know Bobby would hate it, Dean would kiss him.

To his credit, John doesn’t tear Dean a new one the moment he sits down. He doesn’t even say anything. All he does is _stare_ at him expectantly with this whole air of anger around him. Dean can practically taste it and he keeps his hands fisted in his lap, curled tight in his sweats to keep John from seeing how they’re shaking.

Might as well just get this over with so he can either be disowned or dead – depends how well he can dodge a bullet. Or a knife. That really all depends on what John has on him at the moment and whether or not Bobby will be able to intervene. Dean doesn’t actually expect bloodshed, but he’d prefer that over those horrifying _disappointed_ looks that haunt him whenever he’s particularly plagued by his moments of self loathing. He’s had enough of them from John in his lifetime to carry him through to the last syllable of recorded time.

“I covered up the tattoo in January.” He starts slowly, firmly maintaining eye contact with his dad’s forehead because he can’t quite look him in the eye right now. “And I did that because I’ve been out of the Angel game for more than a year now.”

A sick, burning shame fills his stomach when John’s whole expression goes into sour disappointment. Somehow he still manages to maintain a fury that Dean would compare to a god’s wrath if he wasn’t fighting the urge to find a hole to hide in. Then John opens his mouth and Dean flinches before any words even come out of it.

“So, what? You don’t give a shit about what happened your mom anymore?” He bites out and that sick feeling gets more intense. Dean should’ve planned ahead and brought a barf bag or something. It doesn’t get any better when John continues. “Everything we’ve been working for and you’re just going to piss that all away?”

Dean shakes his head and swallows around the lump in his throat. “No, of course not. I’m –”

“You’re what?” John cuts him off, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table and pin Dean with one hell of a glare. “Did you quit hunting to start working? Or are you abandoning the family like your brother did?” He actually laughs and Dean can feel his cheeks start to burn. “ _You’re_ going to go back to school? You barely got your GED!”

It feels like a liquid heat is pouring through Dean’s veins. John _knows_ that bringing up Sammy is a surefire way of getting under his skin – especially if John starts bad mouthing him. Dean doesn’t exactly approve of how Sam left, but Sam saw what he didn’t until Cas opened his eyes for him and Dean is _damn_ proud of him for it. Sam got out when he still could and his life is so much better for it that Dean doesn’t even feel like he abandoned him for that opportunity anymore. If anything, he kinda wishes he’d gone with him – though that means he never would have met Cas and that’s not something he’d trade for anything.

And that whole bullshit about his GED? It just goes to show how little attention John actually paid to anything he did in between their hunts. Dean fucking _aced_ his GED. The only reason he never finished high school was because as soon as John thought he was ready, he started dragging Dean out on the hunts. Sometimes they were camping out for over a month at a time and Dean’s attendance was shit enough that he didn’t bother going back. Hell, he got his GED before he would have graduated normally.

Just the fact that his dad doesn’t know shit about him is making Dean mad. John isn’t even willing to acknowledge that Dean built some fucking awesome traps for him and every hunter out there. Which he kind of regrets doing now, but that can’t be changed so Dean tries really hard not to think about it most of the time.

It takes a minute for him to swallow all that anger pushing up inside of him. Snapping at his dad isn’t going to help him get out everything he needs to tell John. His hands are still shaking, but it’s for entirely different reasons now.

“No, I don’t have a job and I’m not going back to school.” First things first, address his questions or John won’t be letting those go.

“Then it’s a woman.” He practically sneers and Dean nearly flinches again. “You’ve gone and got yourself a _girlfriend_. You’re going to give it all up for some skirt? I’m sure Mary appreciates that.”

Dean doesn’t move, but another bubble of anger builds up in his chest. How _dare_ John try and use his mom to guilt trip him. Everything Dean remembers about Mary and everything Bobby has told him over the years is that this life they’ve had isn’t what she would have wanted for her sons. If anything, he should be the one saying that to John.

“I don’t have a _girl_ friend.” Dean snaps, not caring if John reads anything into that. It’s not a lie, since Cas is most definitely a dude. “And I’m still hunting. I’m just not hunting _Angels_.” He takes a breath before letting everything spill, not giving John any kind of chance to interrupt.

“There are all kinds of creatures out there, dad, and I’m hunting _them_. They’re the ones actually killing people – vampires, werewolves, ghosts, ghouls. You name it and they’re out there.” Dean gestures out at the window as if that’ll actually help. “There are these things called _demons_ – these black-eyed bastards who can blend in with humans. They’ve got the same powers as Angels. _Demons_ are the ones who do, like, ninety-five percent of the stuff that kills Humans that Angels get blamed for.”

It gets really quiet in the kitchen when Dean stops talking. John’s stare has gone from angry to disappointed to angry again and now it’s flatlined somewhere around incredulous. He even looks at Bobby to see if he’s buying what Dean’s selling. Obviously he’s not getting any help there, since Bobby is sitting back in his chair and staring out the window, knocking back his beer every so often. He’s staying out of this until he absolutely has to.

“And where the hell did you learn that?” John finally asks. At least he’s humouring Dean a little and not straight out shutting him down like he kind of expected him to.

Dean is on the verge of saying something along the lines of ‘my _boyfriend_ ’ when Bobby clears his throat and raises his beer bottle in a small salute. “Me.”

His interruption is probably the best thing and now Dean owes him probably a billion shop hours for this. Telling John about how he’s in a homosexual relationship (with an _Angel_ no less) would probably have ended in that bloodshed Dean half predicted before. Bless Bobby Singer. Dean will buy him a gallon of whiskey for this if they manage to get out of it alive.

Bobby puts his beer down and grabs the front of his stained t-shirt. He pulls it out from under his belt and lifts it enough for them to see where his old hunter’s mark had been on his ribs. It’s been tattooed over with a setting sun behind some kind of truck that looks a little like the one Bobby’s been restoring forever in one of the back sheds. Strangely enough, the whole thing looks older than Dean’s and he has the feeling that Bobby really did get it done last year – or maybe even earlier than that.

John looks just as surprised as Dean feels. It’s like Bobby’s little revelation shocked him stupid. Bobby just shrugs and tucks his shirt into his pants again. “I left the business years ago and I’ve been sourcing the network out to others for a while now. When Dean came back from that bust of a solo hunt, I offered him a hunt for a ghost. He’s better at monster hunting and getting rid of those shitheads is a hell of a lot more rewarding than taking down an Angel who ain’t done anything wrong.”

“What about Mary then?” John snaps, slamming his hand down on the table hard enough that it nearly knocks over Bobby’s beer. “We’re just going to forget all about what those winged bastards did to her?”

“The only proof you have that it was Angels is that there were some _sighted_ a few miles away from the storm. That’s it.” Bobby saves his beer and spares a small glance at Dean before he looks at John again, his voice flat. “Here’s some news for you. Angels only ever leave their clans when they’re hunting demons themselves. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, they don’t use their powers, and they make damn sure that Humans ain’t gonna get caught in the crossfire.” The longer Bobby talks, the more red in the face John gets. “Like Dean said, most of the storms that we associate to Angels are actually demons.”

For a moment, John just breathes heavily through his nose. Dean is practically sitting on the edge of his seat, waiting to see what’s going to happen. His heart nearly skips a beat when John finally moves to tip back the last of his beer before he says anything.

“And where the hell did you learn that?”

“I have my sources.” Bobby shoots back easily and Dean would kill to have the kind of calm he’s showing right now. “A lot of Angel hunters end up being monster hunters eventually, John. Most hunters just want to do good and they do more of it by taking out the _real_ threat.” He takes a deep breath and pins John with the kind of stare he usually reserves for when Dean’s done something stupid and he’s trying to talk sense into his dumb head. “Mary’s death was an unfortunate accident. The storm was unnatural, but I’d bet my house than an Angel ain’t the one who did it.”

Dean goes from red hot under his skin to ice cold the moment John turns to him. “And you believe all this bullshit?”

He nods and steels himself with the reminder that he’s doing this all for Cas too. “Yeah, I do. And we’ve been telling the same damn thing to every hunter that we know. You haven’t noticed yet that there are less hunters around now than before you went south?”

John opens and closes his mouth but he doesn’t really have an answer. It’s no surprise, really. Dean was always the one who kept in contact with everyone else when they were travelling together. He sighs and keeps going. “Benny, Jo, Ellen, Ash, Pam – they’ve all quit the Angel business. Ellen and Jo have quit hunting completely and they’ve turned the Roadhouse into a proper bar and restaurant. But they put up monster hunters every now and then. Pam and Ash help out our new hunter network. Benny quit everything too and now he’s working at his fiancé’s café – and she’s expecting. They’re getting married next month and you would have been invited if anyone could’ve gotten a hold of you. You can still come with me and Bobby if you want. “

“I don’t believe this.” John hisses, shoving away from the table and getting up. Dean almost stands on reflex, but he and Bobby just tense and look up at him. “I leave the country for a few months and you’ve gone and warped my own son against me.” He nearly spits at Bobby when he turns on him. “Here I was, thinking you were my friend, but you’ve been fucking with my son’s head behind my back!”

Dean stops breathing for a second when John points at him. “Get your things. We’re leaving and you’re hunting with me again.”

All Dean can do for a moment is blink at him. For the first time in pretty much forever, Dean is absolutely astounded by how blind John is. Has John always been like this or has Dean been away from him for so long that he’s only starting to notice the difference now because _he’s_ changed? Whatever it is, Dean doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like that he couldn’t see this before, and he sure as hell doesn’t like how John is talking to Bobby right now. Bobby’s done _everything_ for him and Sammy over the years. He’s _always_ been there for them and nobody, not even John Winchester gets to talk to him like this.

“No.” He says quietly, getting to his feet slowly so he can look his dad in the eye. “I’m not going with you. It wasn’t a few months, dad. You were gone a year. For a  whole _year_ I didn’t know where the hell you were and half the time I didn’t even know if you were still alive.” His hands stay balled up in fists at his side, but saying all this feels as therapeutic as when Cas gives him a backrub to work out all the kinks in his muscles. “If I’m supposed to be your partner – let alone the fact that I’m your _son_ – then why the hell couldn’t you be bothered to pick up the damn phone and actually _talk to me_?”

Oh God. Oh Buddha. Oh Odin and Zeus and Shiva and all those almighty beings. Dean’s letting it spill. He’s letting out every little thing that’s bothered him over the last year and it feels _good_. And at the same time it’s fucking terrifying. And this is only the tip of the iceberg. At some point he still has to find a good time to tell John about him and Cas. Though at this rate, he’s probably gonna leave out the whole _Angel_ thing. That might actually put John in the grave – if he doesn’t put Dean there first.

John is quiet for a very long time – or really, just a few minutes. It’s long enough for a cold sweat to break out under Dean’s clothes. And it’s definitely long enough for Dean to feel the pressing need to pee. Hopefully nothing happens to startle him. The last thing he needs right now is the mortifying knowledge that at twenty-seven he peed his pants in front of his dad.

“So. This is how you’re going to repay me for everything that I’ve done for you?” He starts slowly, in the kind of dangerous voice that Dean’s only ever heard him use when he’s trying to get information out of an Angel. “I made sure you always had a roof over your head, that you were fed and clothed, and that you got the education you needed. And you’re going to treat me like this?”

Dean has a rebuttal for every single one of those. Half the time the roof over his head was Bobby’s when John ditched them here to go off on a hunt. The rest of the time it was a tent that Dean had to put together himself. The clothes and the food were bought with money that Dean had to cheat and gamble to get whenever they were too far from Bobby’s for help and ran out of what little John left them when they were dumped in a motel. Or, at the worst of times, they had to literally live off the land while they were in tents in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The only thing Dean can really give him credit for is that they did get to go to school. It wasn’t until he was sixteen that Dean started having real problems with attendance. Before that it was just them changing schools so often that their education was a mishmash of different subjects. But they managed. Sammy _is_ in law school after all.

He kind of feels like Sam is talking through him when he opens his mouth again. “I’m _not_ going with you. I have my own life now.”

John actually blanches for a moment and just stares at Dean. Is it really so weird for him to speak up for himself? Maybe it’s the first time that he’s ever done it to John, but Dean’s never really been a push over with anyone else before. Even Bobby seems mildly impressed with the set of balls he finally dropped. Now if only Dean didn’t feel like he was going to throw up at any second, this would probably be kind of a good moment.

But that sick feeling just gets worse when John shoves his chair back under the table so hard it moves the whole thing forward a few inches. “What _life_? You live in a _car_. Where are you getting your money? From pool sharking? Gambling? Like that’s any kind of life.”

Bobby gets up too and he puts himself between Dean and John again. “Not all of us can live off an army pension. Dean works for _me_. He’s on the payroll and he pays taxes and everything. He’s trying to live the kind of life you kept him from having and if you can’t accept that your son isn’t living under your thumb anymore, then you can get the hell out of my house.”

If anything, that just makes John angrier. Dean can see him starting to puff up and there’s a shouting match on the horizon. That’s one of the last things he wants. If they start screaming at each other, fists are going to fly and even if he’s pretty ticked with his dad right now, he doesn’t want to see either of them get hurt. Bobby’s already covering his ass with the hunter thing and Dean can’t let him take the brunt of this too. It’s time for a diversion and he crosses his fingers and toes hoping that at most this is what makes John walk out until everyone can cool off.

“Since we’re on the topic of my life –” Dean cuts in and Bobby looks at him sharply, eyes wide under the brim of his hat like he knows exactly what Dean is going to say. Too bad. This needs to get out there too and he really doesn’t see any better of a time to say it. He shrugs, trying to act like he’s calmer than the storm flaring through his insides. “You should probably know that I’m bisexual and I’ve been _officially_ dating a _guy_ since New Years but we’ve basically been going out since last summer.”

No one moves and Dean is pretty sure that John actually stopped breathing. He kind of looks like he’s caught between laughing as if this is just some joke, and being surprised as all hell. At least he doesn’t look disgusted. That’s as good a go ahead to keep on talking than Dean’s ever going to get and he takes a deep breath before he mans up enough to actually look John in the eyes this time.

“Meeting Cas is one of the greatest things that ever happened to me and I’m sorry that you’re never going to get to meet him. There’s no way in hell I’m going to introduce you if you can’t stop being blinded by hate. You need to get your head out of your ass and see the world for what it really is.” Since he doesn’t spontaneously burst into flames and there isn’t a bullet in his brain by the end of that sentence, Dean’s pretty sure he’s safe to keep going.

At this point he’s basically poking a bear with a really pointy stick anyways. “There’s a war out there between the demons and the Angels. Right now, you’re standing on the side of the demons. They want to get rid of all Angels _and_ Humans. _They_ killed mom and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to be a part of mine and Sammy’s lives again.”

That’s about all the courage he has for the day and Dean turns on his heel to leave the kitchen. As soon as he’s out of sight, he basically collapses against the wall and his heart finally decides that now is a good time to let him know that it’s been beating out a fucking samba against his ribs. His whole chest aches and his stomach might as well be braided into the rest of his internal organs.

He stood up to John. Holy _shit._ Dean just _stood up to John Winchester_ and survived. Not only that, but he came out and he told him most of the stuff that he actually wanted to tell him. Everything feels a hell of a lot lighter right now. He honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he floated right off the floor and bounced against the ceiling a few times like a stray balloon. This is shit he’s had weighing him down for almost a year and it’s fucking amazing to finally get it all off his chest.

All his thoughts go quiet when he hears Bobby start talking in the kitchen. “You think Mary wants to see her sons fighting with their father like this? Get your priorities in gear. When you figure out what’s more important to you – revenge, or your kids – then you’ll be welcomed back here.”

If John say something, Dean doesn’t hear it. There’s the sound of glass getting smashed, stomping boots, and a slamming door before the revving of a truck engine. That’s around when Dean’s knees decide to give out and he slides down the wall to sit on the floor. A mantra of ‘ _holy fuck_ ’ is rotating around in his head and he has the fleeting thought that he just might be on the verge of a panic attack before that gets ripped away from him too.

Something hard taps him on the top of his head and Dean looks up to find Bobby standing there with the cordless phone in his hand. “Call your Angel, or your brother. Just call one of them and calm the fuck down. You did good tonight, boy.”

Dean nods and Bobby helps him to his feet before shoving him toward the stairs. He staggers up them while starting to punch in Cas’s number, only to realize that Cas is on a mission and he really shouldn’t interrupt that until Cas calls him. Next up is Sam’s number and he’s face down on the bed by the time Jess picks up.

“Thank you for calling Jabba’s Hut pizzeria. This is Leia speaking. What can I get for you today?”

He snorts a laugh into his pillow and relaxes a fraction. “Don’t tell me that’s how you greet Bobby. Star Wars references are totally lost on him.”

“Only family gets the special treatment.” She laughs. “What’s up, buttercup?”

“Is Sam around? It’s – uh, it’s about dad. If you maybe want to clear the room or something.”

Jess calls for Sam and then she’s quiet for a second. “That depends… What it is about John? He’s not – y’know – is he?”

“No. It – He was here. I dropped in at Bobby’s for a visit and dad was here.” Dean rolls over onto his back and stares at the ceiling. “I’m going to have to repeat this all for Cas when he calls me next – so put me on speaker if y’want and I’ll tell you and Sam about it.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me from this.” She says and Dean hears the click and shift in sound as he’s put on speaker phone. He waits for Sam to show up and for Jess to give him a brief heads up.

“Holy shit.” Sam hisses and then his voice gets much closer to the phone. “How did it go? What did you say to him? Was there blood?”

Dean muffles another laugh with the arm he drapes over his face. It doesn’t take very long for him to give them both the gist of what went down. By the time he’s done, Dean feels better – but there’s still a worried knot behind his ribs that he doesn’t think is ever going away. Not until John accepts his life for what it is now, at least.

“We’re proud of you, Dean.” Jess says softly, filling the silence that followed his story.

“Yeah.” Sam agrees and Dean can hear the conviction in his words. “No matter what happens with dad, you’ve still got Jess, Bobby, me and Cas.”

That brings a smile to his face. They’re the only ones he’s had for a year now and he’s found that he really doesn’t mind it all that much. Each of them is a great person in their own regard and Dean wouldn’t trade any of them for the world. They’re people he would die for and he’s so beyond lucky to have them all that if he was a praying man, he’d probably be thanking whoever is watching over for having them in his life.

“Yeah, I know.” He mumbles. “Thanks guys.” And he means it. But the goopy conversation topic is making him blush and Dean switches tactics, telling them about the hunt that Raphael sent them on.

This probably isn’t the last he’s going to hear about all this from John, but Dean’s pretty happy with how things have turned out so far. Now all he has to do is wait for Cas to call. After that he can put all this behind him until John surfaces again – if he ever does.

Now if only it didn’t take four days before Cas finally calls him.

x

The night is dark around them, and all the birds have gone to sleep. The only sounds in the night are the gentle rustlings of the animals in the underbrush and the shifting of Castiel’s group of warriors settling down for the night in the branches of the trees they’ve chosen. They’re only ten strong for this mission, Castiel included. Their smaller numbers makes it easier to find shelter in the large grove of trees that lies close to a farm house and barn, surrounded by fields of corn. They arrived during the afternoon and had to cross the fields of tall stalks on foot to avoid being noticed.

Two of his division are perched closer to the edge of the grove, watching the house for half the night before someone else is to take their place. Usually, Castiel would have them act under the cover of darkness and especially on a night as overcast as tonight. But their target this time is a coven of vampires supposedly led by a Hamiamma, according to the rumours the clan contacts have heard.

Before he turns in for the night himself, Castiel risks a call to Dean. He leaves their grove of trees to walk through the field, following their path back to a forest that is separated from the fields by a low fence. Safely in the trees again, Castiel takes refuge in the branches where he’ll be able to see anyone who approaches. The phone rings in his ear a handful of times before Dean answers.

“Oh thank _Christ_ , Cas. I’ve been waiting for you to call me for days now.”

Castiel looks up at the sliver of the moon visible for only a moment between the shifting clouds. A nervous worry pinches at his lungs. “You could have called me.”

“I would’ve, but I didn’t want to interrupt your mission or anything." Dean sighs. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have – I mean – Fuck. Hi, Cas. How’s it going?”

He smothers a smile under his hand as he leans back against the trunk of the tree and folds his wings forwards in a stretch around his shoulders. “We’re settling down for the night before we scout a coven’s nest in the morning. I wanted to talk to you before I went to sleep. How are you?”

“I’d be better if you were here.” The words come in a soft mumble that only makes Castiel’s smile grow. “Or, y’know, if I was there. Better yet, if we were back at your place.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Castiel closes his eyes and reaches out to sift his fingers through his feathers. “Why were you waiting for my call?”

Dean is silent for a beat longer than Castiel feels necessary before he lets out a heavy sigh. “I saw my dad. He was at Bobby’s place when I got here. Stupid shit happened and he basically saw the star before I could even say ‘hi’ to him.”

Castiel sits forward quickly, his wings folding tightly to his back. He’s known for a while now that whenever Dean would finally see his father again, that it wasn’t going to be good. They’ve been apart too long and Dean has changed so much in just the year that Castiel’s known him for Dean to be the same person that his father left behind all those months ago.

He listens quietly as Dean recounts everything that he told John and he is immensely grateful that Bobby was there so he didn’t have to do it alone. John’s reaction isn’t ideal, but Castiel still feels a blush in his cheeks and his wings shift restlessly behind him when Dean mentions what he said about him. That Dean would say something like that, and to his father no less, warms Castiel from the top of his head to his toes and to the very tips of his primary pinions.

“I wish I was there.” Castiel whispers softly, his hand tightening over his thigh. “I wish I could offer you more comfort than my words.”

A small, warm laugh echoes through the phone to tickle through him. “Me too. But hey, it’s okay. I got it all out and I don’t have to worry about telling him anymore. Except the whole Hamiaah thing – but he might never be ready for that, and that’s totally okay too because the last thing I want is for him to decide to start hunting you as revenge for turning me gay or something. And before you say that you didn’t – _he_ probably thinks that. Since according to him, I’ve never been interested in guys before.”

Castiel’s feathers fluff, doubling the size of his wings. There’s an odd sort of pride filling his chest at the notion that he’s the first man that Dean has truly wanted more than just physically. He pointedly ignores the little voice in his head that tells him Dean has never mentioned whether or not he’s ever been romantically attracted to a man before him. It’s nice to feel special and knowing that he holds most of Dean’s firsts with a man gives him that – though it’s no substitute for how Dean makes him feel when he’s with him.

“Cas? Hey, you still with me?” Dean’s voice cuts through Castiel’s thoughts and he ducks his head, ashamed for letting them distract him from the conversation at hand.

“Yes, sorry. I was just thinking.” He shakes his head and leans back against the tree again. “Do you know when you’ll see your father again?”

“No. Last we heard, he left town.” Dean sighs and there’s a soft _whumf_ sound. Castiel assumes he fell back against his bed. “It kinda really _sucks_ that he might not forgive me for this, y’know? He’s my _dad_ and I’ve basically looked up to him my whole life and now I’ve gone and – and _disappointed_ him so bad. And he said some stuff that – Well, he was right. He taught me everything I know. I’d be long dead if it wasn’t for him and –”

His hand curls tightly in the poncho over his shoulders and Castiel bares his teeth to the night in a silent snarl. There’s pain in Dean’s voice and Castiel hates that it’s there. “If there’s anything the last year should have taught you, Dean, it is that you do not need to depend on your father to live. He may have taught you what you needed to know to survive in the world he forced you to live in, but that does not give him claim to run your life as _he_ sees fit.”

Dean falls silent for a few minutes and Castiel wonders if he overstepped his position. He breathes a soft sigh of relief when Dean laughs. It’s just a small sound, but Castiel has long since memorized all of Dean’s laughs and he would recognize it anywhere.

“I know, Cas. Thanks.” There’s no more pain in his voice – only a warmth that Castiel wishes he could wrap himself in.

The desire to do that is almost as painful as the desire to see Dean again, to touch and hold him. And maybe – just maybe – the next time they see each other he’ll finally be the one to take Dean. Though he certainly doesn’t complain when they’re too caught up in one another for him to act on that desire and they default to him – Castiel quickly shakes that thought from his head. He’s on a mission and this is no time to be distracted by his ever present want to be close to Dean.

Their conversation takes a turn then and Castiel is grateful for it. They talk about meaningless things, or about Sam, Jess, or Bobby. Dean goes into details about the marriage ceremony he’ll be attending in a month for one of his friends and how excited he is for that. Castiel talks about Silvanus and Balthazar, and how the clan has forgone the gathering this year in light of most of their warriors being out on missions. He talks about the war and all the news they get from overseas and how Lucifer struggles with attacks on the banded clans.

“Is there any sign of it ending soon?” Dean asks hopefully as Castiel smothers another yawn under his hand. “I mean, I know wars can last a stupid amount of time, but I’m just – well, you know.”

“I know.” Castiel smiles. Dean wants him safely at home again. “But I don’t know. Sometimes the news we get sounds like it, and sometimes it doesn’t. If I didn’t want to be separated from you, I would have already likely tried convincing Raphael to send at least half of our warriors overseas to help them.”

“Yeah, don’t do that. Stay here.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He laughs, only for it to be broken by a yawn.

Dean snorts and there’s laughter in his voice when he speaks again. “That’s, like, your third yawn in five minutes. You’re on a mission so go get some sleep while you can.”

As loathe as he is to admit it, Dean is right. They say their goodnights and Castiel only stumbles a few times during his walk back through the corn field to the grove where his division rests. A few of them stir when he returns, but none make a fuss as he climbs to the spot he chose for himself earlier. Sleep comes easy and the dawn wakes them all with a chorus of bird song. The guards report that some vampires came and went during the course of the night, but nothing suspicious had occurred.

Castiel selects an orrilonsa named Inias and a grey-winged sobamlonsa named Ariel to sneak closer to the house with him. A Hamiamma isn’t affected by the sunlight like the vampires and if they’re still awake, Castiel wants to know what they’re saying or doing. He sends Ariel to carefully check the barn on her own while he finds a place on the roof between two dormers that rise from the sloping shingles. Inias is under the porch, having used his powers to carefully shift the dirt to make a small pit for to kneel in with his wings folded tight to his back.

The windows on either side of Castiel are open, but there are heavy curtains shielding the insides. He gets as close to them as he dares and listens intently for any sounds within. It’s hard to tell over the wind, but he thinks all he can hear is breathing. If he wanted to risk it, he would try peeking through the curtains but even the smallest bit of light would likely alert anyone in the room to his presence.

For hours he sits in the shadows of the roof and strains his hearing to listen for any kind of information that he could report back to Raphael or use against the coven when it comes time for him to eradicate this nest. It’s a long, rather boring day for him and the only relief he gets from it is in the late afternoon when the distinct caw of a crow echoes from the trees. It repeats itself in a seemingly random pattern, but he recognizes it as a warning.

Immediately Castiel wraps his wings around himself and tucks into the crease of the roof where the dormer rises from it. The shadows are longest here and even if he’s on the back of the house facing away from the road, he can’t take any chances. He holds his breath at the crunch of tires on the gravel road that leads to the front of the house and the rumbling roar of an engine. A creak of metal and springs reminds Castiel of Dean’s car and the groan of the door when he opens it.

He nearly flinches at the slam of the vehicle door and forces himself to remain calm when the front door to the house bangs shut too, making the whole building vibrate minutely under him. Castiel shifts to lay flat against the roof and press his ear to the shingles. Though he hears and feels distant vibrations, any words are lost to him. Even sliding closer to the window and leaning toward the curtain gets him nothing more than muffled voices.

Castiel doesn’t dare move from his position on the roof until he’s heard the vehicle drive away again. Even then he waits for the distinctive cry of a raven after night has fallen before he takes the risk of launching from the roof. His dark clothes and wings mask him in the night and he glides from the roof of the house to the roof of the barn, dropping down on the far side with Ariel. She informs him that there is nothing more than farm animals inside. They wait in the corn for Inias to join them. His white wings are covered with a blanket as he runs from the house to the fields of corn, keeping low to the ground. They wait in silence to see if they were noticed before returning to the grove of trees where the rest of the division waits.

They’ve barely climbed into the trees before Inias drops the blanket from his wings and spreads them excitedly, nearly knocking one of his comrades from their branch. He grins around at everyone waiting for his report. Inias was the only one positioned to have been able to hear anything going on in the house. Castiel suspects that the Hamiamma leader of the coven was on the main floor or the majority of the coven itself was located in the basement.

“What did you hear, Inias?” He asks in a whisper. Vampires have sharp hearing and they should take every precaution, just in case they’re heard.

Inias sucks in a quick breath before hissing excitedly. “I wouldn’t have heard as much if it weren’t for the open basement window on the other side of the porch lattice, but it was definitely another Hamiamma who arrived earlier. She was there to use their phone and let them know some important news.”

“What news?” Ariel demands. She’s been more bored that Castiel was all day. “Out with it.”

“The Hamiamma is spreading information that she received through something called an _email_.” He shrugs and looks straight at Castiel when he delivers his next news, his voice dropping into a low whisper. “ Lucifer has launched an all out attack on the gathered clans. From what I heard, he even went into battle himself. Some of the vampires in the coven think he’s completely lost his mind.”

Castiel wouldn’t be surprised. Lucifer lost almost his entire clan _and_ his wings. It would be a miracle if he didn’t lose his sanity in the process. Frankly, that’s the only reason Castiel would accept for why Lucifer’s vengeance would include both Human and Hamiaah alike. But this might be the chance they’ve been waiting for. Without a leader guiding them, the Hamiamma and their monstrous children usually prefer to work on their own or in packs and covens. The Hamiamma are already unstable by themselves. A war is beyond them.

An excited murmur passes through the branches amongst the warriors as Castiel thinks on what to do. It doesn’t take him long to decide and he flares his wings to garner their attention. Silence falls almost immediately.

“Ezekiel.” Castiel looks across the circle at the fastest in this group – despite his height. “Pack your things and take this news back to Raphael as fast as your wings will carry you. Inias, did you hear anything else at all? Do they know any more?”

He shakes his head slowly. “From what I heard, some of the coven doesn’t want to be a part of the war but they’re controlled by the Hamiamma and they have no choice.”

That will make it harder for Castiel to do what they came here for. “That is unfortunate for them. Ezekiel, go as quick as you can. We’re putting the plan into action now to cover your departure.”

Even though night has fallen and vampires have excellent night vision, Castiel and his division still have the advantage. No one ever really expects an attack from above _and_ below. He and two other mirlonsa stand and watch from the cover of the trees as the rest of his division circles the home from above, swooping down to drop torches on the house. The flames are fanned into an inferno by the ialpirtlonsa standing on the roof of the barn, a searing red light glowing under his feathers.

It doesn’t take long for the vampires and the Hamiamma to run from the building. Castiel and the other mirlonsa are waiting, guiding vines and roots to break from the ground and trip up any who try to escape. As they fall and stagger away, the vampires are easy targets for the others to glide down and remove their heads. Any who don’t make it out burn alive and Castiel is thankful that the roar of the flames covers their screams.

They throw the bodies of the dead back into the fire and watch from the trees until the house has burned itself out. By then, the morning light is coming. They’re far from any town and Castiel is glad for it. No one has come to put the fire out and it makes their job all the easier. They spend the morning resting back in the forest, going deep enough that they won’t be found before they hear anyone looking for them.

Before Castiel gets a few hours of sleep, he leaves his division. The tips of his primaries brush the top leaves of the trees as he skims the roof of the forest for a few wing beats, flying until he’s certain that no one will overhear his call.

Dean sounds out of breath when he answers and Bobby’s voice raises in the background. He sounds irritated. “Hey Cas, one sec –” His voices grows muffled and Castiel can easily picture him covering the mouthpiece to the phone. “Yeah, I _know_ , but it’s _Cas_. Just give me a minute, okay!”

“Did I interrupt something?” Castiel asks when the muffled sounds stop.

“Sorta?” He gives a small laugh. “We’re working on a car and he’s just pissed because I nearly dropped the hood on his head when I tried to answer the phone. I dunno what he’s so angry about. I caught it before it would’ve actually hit him. So, hey. You’re calling me two days in a row? That’s gotta be a record or something.”

His wings twitch against his back, the feathers shifting against each other in response to Dean’s laugh. “Possibly. In any case, I can’t be long. We’re only resting for a little while. I wanted to let you know that I’ve finished my mission and we’ll be flying back to the clan later today. If you want to head to the felanthe soon, I’m only a few days away.”

Dean’s happiness is so obvious in his voice that it nearly catches Castiel by surprise. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely.” Castiel breaks into a wide grin, the joy contagious. “When Raphael gave me this mission, he promised that I could have a week at the very least when I returned.”

“Fuck yes!” He crows and Castiel wouldn’t be surprised if Dean was dancing or punching the air in delight. “Cas, that’s _awesome_. I’ll leave bright and early tomorrow morning and should be there the next afternoon, I think. Depends whether or not I decide to drive through the night. I just might, actually.”

“You should get your rest.” He says softly, trying to ignore the itching _want_ under his skin. It’s been over a month since he’s seen Dean. “You know I don’t like sleeping away what little time I get with you.”

Dean’s voice falls into gentle tones, as if he’s reminiscing about all the visits they’ve had this year. “Yeah, Cas, I know. Go get some sleep and I’ll see you in a few days.”

Another smile splits his lips and Castiel nods at nothing but the branches around him. “I look forward to it. Drive safely, Dean, and please give Bobby my apologies for interrupting.”

Castiel returns to his sleeping division and makes himself comfortable. Within minutes he’s fast asleep and his dreams are filled with his memories of his home in the forest. He wakes with an ache in his chest. If he’s going to have a week at the least, maybe he can convince Raphael to let them take this time at his home instead of the felanthe. Silvanus would be able to carry him and Dean there in a day.

The flight back to the clan is filled with these thoughts and they leave him longing for the only place he truly considers home now. Even if he’s become more accepted within the clan over the last several months, in part to his many successful missions, he still harbors too much bitterness for how they once treated him. At least it will be nice to know that he will be able to come and go from the clan much easier after this.

Long before they even land in one of the clearings surrounding where the summer tents are built, Castiel and his entire division can hear laughter and music. They share curious looks between them and waste no time weaving between the trees to join the main camps where fires are blazing in pits that haven’t been used all summer to avoid the risk of giving their location away. Children run and scream in delight between the tents while men and women raise their voices in song.

It’s a celebration and Castiel doesn’t need to ask anyone to know what it’s about. There is only one thing that would bring the entire clan to elation like this. Castiel can hardly believe it and he holds his breath without truly knowing what he’s waiting for. He lets it out in an explosive sigh when Balthazar spots him through the festivities – likely having seen his division circling before they landed. Balthazar forces his way through the crowds until he can grip Castiel’s arms.

He laughs loudly and pulls Castiel into a tight hug, nearly wrapping him in his wings too. All it takes is one confused look for Balthazar to tilt his head back and crow happily at the sky. Everyone within earshot mimics him and the song echoes through the forest.

Lucifer is dead and the war is won.


	43. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the only part about seeing Dean again that Castiel wasn’t looking forward to on the flight here. He steels himself and lets the words fall from his tongue quickly. “The clan is celebrating and Raphael says I should be there for it, and he said that I should bring you back to rejoice with us.” When Dean says nothing and stares at him, Castiel continues. “Silvanus would need to carry you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

“But how –” Castiel shakes his head in disbelief and glances at the celebrations around them as the rest of his division breaks away, searching out friends and loved ones of their own. “When?”

“We got word this morning.” Balthazar explains excitedly, tugging him forward by his arm toward one of the fires and where a wineskin is being generously shared. “Remember the message you had Ezekiel bring back?”

He nods, accepting the cup that gets shoved into his hand, though he doesn’t drink from it. “Of course I do. But that was only rumour – something we overheard from a Hamiamma visiting the coven we were there to handle.”

“It wasn’t rumour.” A voice speaks up from his other side and Castiel turns to find Anna standing next to him, her red hair tied up with feathers and baubles. She looks stunning and her happy smile attracts the eyes of many of the Hamiaah around her. “Lucifer really did lay siege to the gathered clans and headed the attack himself. We received a message this morning through the chain of contacts that he was cut down by the Iaidon, Remiel, during one of the sieges yesterday afternoon.” Anna pauses and her wings droop slightly. “She gave her life to take him down.”

They all bow their heads and have a moment of silence for their sisters and brothers who have returned to Caosgi since the start of the war. They’ve always been at war with the Hamiamma for as long as anyone can remember, but this new war of Lucifer’s was far more dangerous than anything they’ve had to deal with in centuries. The Hamiamma never directly attacked the clans like they have been in the last year and it was all because of Lucifer.

When a new song of celebration starts, Castiel lifts his cup with the others in a salute to their fallen brethren. The last time he drank wine was the night after the last clan gathering when he got extremely drunk in Dean’s company. This time is much different and he still doesn’t have much appetite for it, but he still tips the drink down his throat in sync with Balthazar at his side. The wine spreads through him in a liquid warmth that makes his feathers shiver. It’s a feeling that reminds him of the heat that flares tightly in his chest whenever he looks at Dean.

Castiel’s wings spread in surprise upon the realization that he forgot about Dean. Returning to an unexpected festival had shocked his plans clear out of his head and he curses himself for forgetting. Dean is waiting for him at the felanthe and it’s already pushing late into the afternoon. There are still things he needs to get from his tent and he’ll be flying slower weighed down with his things. And before he can do anything, he needs to make a report to Raphael.

“Anael.” He touches her shoulder gently to get her attention. “Where can I find Iaidon?”

She points toward the center of the camp where the biggest bonfire of them all is blazing above the tents, caged behind woven beams grown by a mirlonsa. He thanks her and gives Balthazar his cup, promising to be back shortly. Rather than cutting through the mess of tents and Hamiaah to get straight to the bonfire, Castiel takes the outside edge. It’s a longer route, but it takes less time than having to force his way through the crowds.

For a minute, Castiel has to stop and take in the sight before him. The councilors and Raphael are all gathered around the fire, and they’re actually _smiling_. More than that, some of them are even dancing. It’s so odd to see such stone faced Hamiaah – ones he has _never_ seen smile – being so joyous. Lucifer’s end is a relief to all and Castiel takes a few moments just to watch and revel in this moment. It’s certainly one that will be woven into their songs of history.

Surprisingly, Raphael is the one who approaches him. Castiel is watching one of the councilors spinning in dizzying circles with a child when he notices movement out of the corner of his eye. He looks back to find Raphael at his side. Out of respect, Castiel dips his head and wings in a small bow.

“Keep your report short and sweet, Castiel.” Raphael says around a toothy and rather unnerving smile. “This is not a time to waste on protocol. It is a time to celebrate!”

Castiel realizes after a few seconds of staring, that Raphael is intoxicated. He must be. It’s the only explanation available for why he’s so… _relaxed_ – and it would account for why he seems to be swaying slightly. Castiel swallows and shakes himself to recover from his shock. “The coven and their Hamiamma leader are finished. We left no one alive and there were no witnesses or casualties. Ezekiel brought you the only information we managed to gather.”

“Short and sweet.” Raphael nods in approval before tilting his head back and actually _laughing_. Castiel can’t keep his wings from twitching out and his feathers fluffing in alarm. This is the first time he’s ever heard that sound and it’s a rather eerie experience. His reaction only seems to amuse Raphael more, though he does seem to make the concerted effort to school himself back to some sense of decorum. “He’s waiting for you at the felanthe, isn’t he?”

“Most likely.” Castiel nods and hesitates, his wings folding in tightly. “I would like to go see him now, if I may be excused from the festivities?”

“This is a big moment for our clan.” Raphael muses, turning to look at the fire and holding his hands clasped behind his back. “You should be here to celebrate this victory with us.”

Those few words find Castiel caught in a confusing mix of anger and despair. His stomach feels like it drops to his feet at being denied the chance to see Dean again while a pulsing anger floods through his lungs. As his hands curl into fists, his wings tremble against his back with the urge to flare unhappily. Raphael had _promised_ that Castiel would be given time to visit Dean after this mission. He should be allowed that regardless of the celebrations.

“You’re quick to jump to conclusions but you hold your tongue well, Castiel. Better than your Human does.” Raphael tilts his head to regard him from the corner of his eye. “I don’t doubt that we’ll be celebrating for a week, at the least. Bring your Human here.”

Castiel loses control over his wings and they spread wide in surprise. Bring Dean here? He had never thought to ask for such a thing. Maybe once he had thought about bringing Dean to the clan to show him their winter caves and the summer village, but it seemed such an impossible thing when Raphael was so openly hostile to Dean.

He doesn’t risk questioning it and bows again as he backs away. “Thank you, Iaidon. I’ll leave to fetch Dean immediately.”

If he leaves without telling Balthazar Castiel will never hear the end of it, regardless of whether or not he’ll be returning soon. He finds his friend at the same fire where he is lifting his feet and clapping his hands to the beat of a drum. Castiel pulls him aside for a brief moment just to let him know what he’s doing, and Balthazar’s wolfish grin sets his feathers on edge. The best he can do about that is ignore it, though he knows that the news of his plans are going to be spread throughout the clan before he even reaches the felanthe to collect Dean.

Before he does that, Castiel returns to his tent to unload the travel bags strapped carefully to his back and waist. Once done, he kneels next to a tree and places his hands against the rough bark. When he closes his eyes, Castiel reaches out with all his senses and listens for the voice of the forest. It thrums in the background of all things, a tempo that pulses with the life of Caosgi. Immersing himself in the energy that flows from tree to tree and into the ground is exhilarating, although it always carries the risk of getting lost from oneself.

Through that energy, Castiel can feel everything in the forest. The rising joy of his clan is a dancing sea of light behind his eyelids and the forest celebrates with them. He turns his attention from them and follows the branching connections of life through valleys and over mountains to find the felanthe. The forest recognizes the feel of the wheels of Dean’s car and it senses one radiant life walking from the door of the felanthe to the vehicle. Castiel can’t help the smile that breaks across his lips. Dean is waiting for him and even the forest can tell he’s excited.

It would be too dangerous for him to spread out further to find Silvanus too, so Castiel withdraws from the deep connection of the forest. He leaves it with one request, appealing to it to find Silvanus and ask him to return to the felanthe as quickly as he is able. At this distance his bond with Silvanus isn’t nearly as strong, but he puts that request into it too, pulling to get his attention and call him here. Hopefully the message will reach him and he won’t be too far away – though Castiel suspects that he’s close. Silvanus has developed the habit of showing up when he’s least expected during Castiel’s visits with Dean. This could play to their advantage today.

Castiel climbs into the trees in the clearing where he landed earlier, taking wing from the branches urged to grow specifically for this use. With the wind tugging at his poncho and whistling through his hair, he tilts his wings and banks towards the felanthe. He soars higher than he normally would, beating his wings to climb until he’s skimming under the clouds. When the felanthe finally comes into view, it’s so small he could hold it in his hand.

Silvanus is running in the clearing and Castiel laughs as he folds his wings in tightly and free falls. It’s exhilarating and it only adds to that disbelieving joy beating through his veins with the news from the clan. He can’t wait to tell Dean. It’s not until his spreads his wings and glides out of his dive does he notice that Silvanus is actually chasingDean around the field.

Dean is the first to notice Castiel’s descent and he comes to a stop, jumping out of the way before Silvanus crashes into him. He waves his arms above his head and starts running up the field again toward where Castiel is aiming to land. Another laughs bubbles out his throat as Silvanus tears past Dean to wait by the door of the felanthe, a roar shaking the air.

He lands well before Dean reaches them and Silvanus nearly knocks Castiel from his feet with an affectionate head-butt. Laughing again, Castiel shoves him back. “I see that the forest contacted you.”

 **I wasn’t far.** Silvanus rumbles a laugh and the wood of his face creaks as he grins, his tail whipping the air. **The forest lets me know when your Human comes here. I like to know when I can see you and it is always amusing to see how it aggravates him.** He snorts and tilts his head toward Dean.

And that answers the question Castiel never bothered to ask, even if he’s always suspected it – though Dean has posed it every single time Silvanus has showed up unannounced during their visits. Castiel flares his wing to cuff Silvanus on the side of the head playfully as Dean jogs to a stop in front of them and bends forward to rest his hands on his knees for a moment to take several long, deep breaths. There’s sweat on his forehead and it makes the longer hair at his brow stick up in slick spikes when he runs his hands through it.

“What took you so long?” He laughs breathlessly and gestures limply at Silvanus. “Even your walking salad got here before you did.”

Castiel can’t help it, he laughs. Dean raises an eyebrow and gives him a curious look. All it does is make that swelling feeling in Castiel’s chest expand even more. He steps forward to sweep his wings around Dean, hugging him tightly and pressing happy kisses to his lips. At first Dean is surprised, but he naturally wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist and smiles into each one.

“What are –” Dean tries talking between every kiss. “– you so – happy about?” He leans back just a little to look him in the eye properly. “You’re never _this_ excited to see me.”

“That’s not true.” Castiel murmurs, pulling him in again. “I’m always very pleased to see you. And I have some very good news.”

“Oh?” He grins into the next kiss, his hands moving to Castiel’s hips. “You gonna tell me or you gonna make me have to guess?”

Silvanus snorts behind him and nudges Castiel in the back. **You’re telling him something new before you tell me, Qaal? That’s not fair.**

He flares his wings to push him away and Dean grins over Castiel’s shoulder at Silvanus, clearly on the verge of laughing at him. Castiel leans forward to kiss Dean again before they get into some kind of argument. Those usually consist of Dean calling Silvanus interesting yet insulting names while Silvanus growls at him without Dean knowing what he’s saying.

Dean laughs again and leans away. “Okay, okay, seriously just tell me. Out with it already.”

“Lucifer is dead.” Castiel says breathlessly, grinning brightly at the surprise over taking Dean’s expression. “Without him to lead them, the war is basically won.”

For several moments, Dean simply stares at him with his mouth agape. Castiel smiles and his wings fold forward around the both again. The smile spreads slowly over Dean’s lips. “You’re serious? Really? Does that mean you’re – For real?”

“Yes, for real.”

With a whoop of joy, Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist and bodily lifts him from the ground. He attempts to spin them, much to Castiel’s surprise and his wings spread in an attempt to balance them. This only seems to make it harder and they fall over amidst Silvanus’s gruff laughter. Dean swears as they hit the ground and Castiel flaps his wings uselessly, trying not to land directly on him. They stare at each other for a few moments before breaking into uncontrollable laughter.

“Sorry.” Dean chuckles, reaching up to stroke through Castiel’s feathers. “You’re a lot heavier and manlier than anyone I’ve ever spun before. It’s mostly the wings, probably.”

Silvanus rumbles with laughter above them and Castiel would be annoyed with his sheer gall to be amused by this if he wasn’t so happy himself. Seeing Dean happy always makes Castiel feel good and he can’t think of any way that today could get any better than it already is. No, there is one way. He leans down and kisses Dean’s smile again, curving his wings over them both to hide from Silvanus’s displeased snorts as he paws the ground.

It takes them a while to get up from the ground, and only because Silvanus threatens to chew on Dean’s foot if they don’t stop. Castiel pulls Dean to his feet and they slap at their clothes to knock the dirt from them. Dean is still laughing and smiling, and this is most definitely going on Castiel’s list of best days.

“Any more news I should know about?” Dean asks, reaching over to pick a leaf off Castiel’s shoulder. “Before we go inside and end up knocking over a table or something?”

This is the only part about seeing Dean again that Castiel wasn’t looking forward to on the flight here. He steels himself and lets the words fall from his tongue quickly. “The clan is celebrating and Raphael says I should be there for it, and he said that I should bring you back to rejoice with us.” When Dean says nothing and stares at him, Castiel continues. “Silvanus would need to carry you there.”

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Dean says skeptically. “Raphael wants _me_ to come to your great big Angel shindig? Is he _high_?”

“He might have been slightly inebriated when he extended the invitation, but I believe it to be sincere.”

Dean snorts a laugh and covers his face with a hand. “Do I _have_ to ride Sir Prissypants here?” He jerks a thumb toward Silvanus. “Maybe you remember, Cas, but the last ride wasn’t all that fun. Couldn’t I just, I dunno, walk or something?”

He shakes his head and tries not to find Dean’s reluctance to be so endearing. “It would be well into the night before we arrived if we walked. And the underbrush has been grown extra thick around our valley to make it very difficult for unwanted guests. Silvanus is big enough that it gives him little to no trouble.”

“Do I have to ride him alone?” The question is asked with a pitiful sulk and Dean gives Castiel a pout to go with it. “You’re gonna ride with me, right?”

“If it will be what gets you to accept the invitation, then I will.” Castiel nods and enjoys the giddy smile the pout becomes. He doesn’t feel it necessary to elaborate that he was planning on riding with them anyways. After a month, he’d rather stay with Dean then fly back to the clan alone.

Turning, Castiel gestures back at the felanthe and Dean’s vehicle. “You should grab your bag. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying with the clan, but it will likely be a few days at the very least.”

Silvanus bumps him with his shoulder while Dean is inside getting his bag. **May I stay too?**

“For the party?” Castiel asks, absently running his hand over the bark between his eyes. “It might be boring for you, but you’re welcome to stay. I would never turn you away.”

A happy purr trembles the vines that form Silvanus’s neck, though he gives Dean a narrow-eyed glare the moment he comes back outside with his bag. It seems much lighter than usual when Dean passes it to Castiel to hold while he finds his way up onto Silvanus’s back. With Dean holding the bag in front of himself, Castiel settles behind him and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist to hold onto him for the duration of the ride.

Once they’re comfortable and Castiel’s wings are tucked carefully against his back, Silvanus bounds across the field. Dean swears violently under his breath and slouches forward over his bag, his hands buried tightly in the vines of his neck. Castiel grins and presses his cheek to Dean’s back as Silvanus shakes the forest with a delighted roar, dodging between the trees. Even he shares in the clan’s joy that the war is as good as won, though a good portion of that is likely Castiel’s joy spilling into their bond.

It’s almost overwhelming. Castiel hasn’t been this happy in a long time. He’s certainly been extremely happy to see Dean whenever they manage to have a visit between missions and hunts, but this is different. This is _better_. With the war basically theirs, there is every possibility that Castiel will be able to see Dean even more now. He might even be able to return home since the clan won’t require quite so much protection. Hopefully missions will be fewer and farther between – if there’s any at all.

Castiel doesn’t doubt that now that his position has been restored, he’ll be given missions every once in a while. There won’t be as pressing a need for them now. Maybe if he puts Uriel in charge of the garrison again, Castiel might be able to retire completely. If he does that, he could return home and simply be on reserve with the clan. In that case, he would only be called upon for assistance in dire situations – like another outright war or something equally tragic.

He holds onto that thought – that _hope_. If he’s lucky, he and Dean might actually get to go _home_ soon. Castiel will finally be able to relax properly and there won’t be a limit to how long Dean could visit. They would have some stability and Dean could come and go as _they_ wish. It’s exhilarating to think about and Castiel squeezes Dean tightly, muffling a laugh in the shirt on his back as Silvanus roars again.

By the time they reach the clearing the clan uses to land and take off from, Dean seems a little queasy. He gives Castiel a look that he translates as something along the lines of _‘never again’_ , though Dean must know that he’ll have to ride Silvanus back to the felanthe when they finally leave. Castiel gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder before leading both Dean and Silvanus toward his tent so Dean can get rid of his bag. The sun is already starting to set over the mountains and stars can be seen in the sky.

“I probably should’ve asked this before we left the cabin, but how many members of your clan know I used to be an Angel hunter?” Dean asks cautiously as he shoulders his bag. His eyes are locked on the fires and Hamiaah they can see through the trees.

“Everyone knows.” Castiel explains, taking his free hand and linking their fingers. It’s a bold move, but he doesn’t want any of his clan to misunderstand his relationship with Dean. “Gossip is the only entertainment the merchants have. Everyone who isn’t a warrior is bored out of their minds in the caverns during the winter.”

“Who told?”

“Balthazar.” He sighs and rolls his eyes. “I never should have told him when I returned from our first visit. But he insisted that he know everything that Anael and Raphael knew and he is _very_ persuasive.”

Dean snorts and gives Castiel a wry look, teasing smirk included. “You’re really not selling the whole ‘meet your friends’ thing here, Cas.”

There’s nothing more that Castiel can do aside from shrug and give him a hopeless smile. Balthazar has been the same for as long as he’s know him and that’s verging on nearly a century now. He was the only one who was willing to be Castiel’s friend when he came to live at the clan after his parents’ death. Even still, Castiel finds him rather endearing – if not annoying on some occasions. Though he knows that Balthazar hasn’t had it easy being his friend either.

Silvanus prances ahead of them after they leave the tent. The singing in the area closest to them stutters to a stop when he breaks through the trees. Murmuring starts up when Castiel and Dean follow him along the edge of the clearings, looking for the fire where Balthazar will have a place saved for them. The singing picks up again a few moments later, but Castiel is aware of their eyes. It’s like a weight on his shoulders, but it’s one he’s lived with his whole life. He glances at Dean, worried that he might not be handling it so well.

Dean is wide-eyed and awestruck. It occurs to Castiel then that this is the first time that he’s ever seen so many Hamiaah, and this is the first village he’s been too. Castiel’s descriptions over the last year don’t do it justice and Dean seems caught between trying to see everything all at once and attempting to look indifferent. It’s an amusing display and Castiel smothers a chuckle under his hand.

“Something funny, Cas?” He asks with a lopsided grin, though not once does Dean turn his attention away from the main body of the camp.

“You’re like a child trying to contain his excitement.” Castiel squeezes his hand and fans one wing over Dean’s shoulder. “I would have thought that with your upbringing you would be more nervous to be around so many Hamiaah.”

With a shaky laugh, Dean bumps their shoulders together and finally looks at him. “Are you kidding? The only thing keeping me from ducking for cover is this.” He raises their held hands between them and squeezes back. “I think I’m going to have a heart attack or something. They all know I was a hunter and what’s stopping them from assuming I _did_ kill an Angel and coming after me for it?”

“Me.” Castiel says firmly as he pulls Dean to a stop and tugs him around until they’re facing one another. He folds his wings around Dean’s shoulders and kisses him in full few of many members of the clan, murmuring softly against his lips. “They know you’re mine and they wouldn’t dare hurt you.”

Even in the firelight, Castiel can see the blush spread darkly over Dean’s cheeks and he ducks his head, mumbling a jumble of sounds that are too quiet to be heard. But he squeezes Castiel’s hand harder before sliding his arm around his waist and leaning into his side as they walk. Castiel feels overwhelmingly smug at the moment and not even Balthazar’s ridiculous – and somewhat threatening grin – is enough to bring him down when they find him.

“Finally – we get to meet Cassie’s illustrious Human!” Balthazar jumps to his feet, his white wings unfurling slightly as he greets them and he shakes Dean’s hand overenthusiastically.  “It’s truly an honour. Cassie has told us _so much_ about you.”

“Cassie?” Dean mouths at him with an amused look as he’s lead back to the fire and the few other Hamiaah gathered around it. “Uh, yeah. He’s told me all about you too. Nice to finally meet you.”

Castiel sits beside Silvanus where he’s made himself comfortable leaning against the tree line. Dean drops into place next to him and nudges Castiel’s arm until he folds one of his wings around his shoulders. The action stops the murmured conversations from the others around the fire, but Castiel doesn’t mind. This is what is comfortable for Dean and anyone who has a problem with it can leave.

He takes a moment to introduce Dean to the other members of the clan sitting around the circle. There’s Anael, who Dean has already met, and Samandriel – one of Castiel’s youngest cousins. Inias and Rachel are sitting opposite the fire from them. Balthazar stays silent until everyone has been introduced, but Castiel can tell that he’s practically bursting to say or do _something_ and he’s not surprised that he’s cut off before he’s completely finished.

“Alright, alright, that’s very fascinating, Cassie. But now there’s more _interesting_ things to talk about.” Balthazar flaps a hand to shush him and leans into Dean’s personal space. “The most important question here is: _do you drink_?”

Dean looks a little surprised and glances at Castiel. “Yes?”

“Excellent! Inias, pass the wine. This is a party and we’re going to act like it!” A cheer erupts from their small group and Silvanus roars his approval as wine is poured for everyone, though Castiel barely touches the cup given to him.

With how loud Silvanus is being, it’s no surprise that Raphael shows up shortly. He’s there and gone within a matter of minutes, only staying long enough to greet Dean and give him a vague warning about proper behavior within the village. After that, it doesn’t take long for Dean to loosen up. The wine that Balthazar continues to pour for him seems to be aiding the process, but Dean relaxes and his laughter is boisterous, mixing with the cheers and songs of the clan.

While he’s able, Dean asks as many questions as he receives. Tales of battle are traded back and forth over the fire as easily as if they were discussing the weather and Castiel participates when he feels like it. Mostly, he’s content with just sitting and watching something that a year ago he never would have thought would happen.

Parts of it feel surreal to see Dean with the clan, excitedly telling stories about his family, friends, and the hunting that he does. A warmth spreads deep in Castiel’s chest, fueled by the knowledge that at least _some_ of his clan is accepting Dean. That ‘some’ grows as the night wears on. More and more Hamiaah come to their fire with questions for Dean about the things Humans do, or just to listen to this new person. Outsiders rarely come directly to the clan and this is a treat for many, regardless of Dean’s connection to Castiel.

Not once does he move his wing from Dean’s shoulders.

Castiel doesn’t realize how late it’s gotten until Dean slumps against his side and muffles a yawn. He’s had far more wine than Castiel thinks he should have and he started hiccupping not long ago – much to Balthazar’s eternal amusement. Most of the questions from tonight have been asked by Balthazar. If Castiel thought he was doing anything more than gathering information like the snoop that he is, he would have intervened hours ago.

There are several other Hamiaah still settled around their fire when Castiel finally loops an arm around Dean’s waist and helps him to stand. “I’m afraid we’re going to be leaving now. It’s been a long day and I think we both need to rest now.”

“Kill joy.” Balthazar hisses, calling after them as Castiel follows Silvanus back towards his tent. “Just remember that we share that clearing! I’ll be coming back in an hour, so get all your gross stuff out of the way first. I don’t want to hear anything obscene!”

Dean gives a drunken giggle and stumbles slightly as he turns to shout back over his shoulder. “If we’re gonna do everythin’ I wanna do t’Cas, we’re gonna need _way_ more’n an _hour_!”

The wild whoops of laughter that follow them into the dark of the forest is enough to make Castiel’s ears burn. He nearly considers letting Dean try and maneuver the roots of the trees on his own as punishment, but then Dean sags against him with a sleepy sigh. “Jus’ words, Cas. Think m’too drunk t’get it up t’night.”

After a moment, he lifts his head to squint at the side of Castiel’s face. “How come y’ain’t all drunk too?”

“I only drink when I’m unhappy.” He says softly, helping Dean inside the tent when they arrive. “And I haven’t been unhappy enough for that in over a year.”

“Yeah?” Dean hiccups. He still needs to be held up while he kicks off his shoes and Castiel has to help remove his belt before he can take off his pants too. His shirts trip him up for a moment, but he gets those off without help.

Castiel guides Dean into the nest that takes up half his tent. “Yes, Dean. I’m very happy.”

“Good.” He mumbles into the blankets, twisting his limbs around one as he curls on his side in the nest. “Means m’doing m’job right.”

With a smile, Castiel leans over and presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s temple. “Get some sleep, Dean. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve made the bed big enough for both of us.” He turns to the entrance of his tent and where the blanket covering it is bunched up on Silvanus’s head. “And goodnight to you too.”

 **Sleep well, Qaal.** Silvanus rumbles a purr and steps away, letting the blanket fall back into place.

The heavy thump he makes as he lays down outside the tent is enough to make Dean stir in the nest, but not enough to rouse him from the slumber he’s quickly falling into. Without the light from Silvanus’s eyes, Castiel can’t see anything inside the tent. He grows glowing mushrooms up the small trees that make up the four corners and meet in the middle above his head. The vines of his nest are wrapped around two of the trees right now.

To make the nest bigger, he’s going to have to clear some space. At the moment it’s only big enough for one person and it takes up half the tent. He’ll need more space along the walls to string vines to support the extra weight. Anything that he doesn’t use daily can be stored underneath the nest to free up extra room. After taking down the empty frame that he uses for weaving mats and rearranging all the bags closer to the door, he sets to work on growing more vines and coaxing the existing ones to move without waking Dean. It’s a difficult task and it tires him.

Castiel spent most of the day flying and by the time he crawls into his nest to fold himself to Dean’s back, he’s exhausted. Dean wakes up enough to see what’s going on when Castiel settles against him. He reaches back and repeatedly makes a pathetic gesture until Castiel drapes one of his wings over them both. With another happy sigh, Dean falls back asleep almost instantaneously. All of this feels so _natural_ that Castiel can’t help tumbling right after him, smiling against the back of his neck.

He doesn’t wake up until well after dawn, and it’s only because Dean is attempting to stealthily get out of the nest without waking him. As this task requires climbing over Castiel, it’s one that doesn’t work so well. Especially when Dean’s foot slips and he nearly crushes one of his wings and ends up laying heavily on top of him.

“Shit, fuck, sorry.” Dean groans against his shoulder. “Fuck, you’re awake now aren’t you?”

“Since before you fell on me.” He murmurs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Let me get out of the way first. Then you can get out.”

It takes more than a little shuffling, and quite a bit of complaining before Dean is out of the nest and on his feet. He’s squinting in the dark of the tent and groping across the floor for his clothing. Castiel takes pity and grows more glowing lichen for him to see by. Even as he thanks him, Dean gives a pained hiss and looks away from the light.

“You have a headache.” Castiel points out, sitting up again. “Come here and let me help you with it.”

“But I have to pee like a racehorse and my mouth feels like a tribble died in it.” Dean mutters, pulling on one of the shirts he usually wears open. He stumbles a little as he tries pulling on his boots. “Where’s the nearest place I can get some water?”

“There’s a skin of it hanging from that hook.” He slips from the nest carefully as Dean roots around in his bag for the brown pouch he keeps the things he uses in the bathroom at the felanthe, getting the water-skin for him. “Let me cure your headache before you go. It will only take a second.”

Dean squints at him in the meager light when he accepts the water skin, but he nods. Castiel pulls him forward into the circle of his wings and rests his hands against Dean’s temples. All it takes is a few pulses his energy through his fingertips to make Dean’s headache go away and there’s an easy smile on Dean’s lips when they step apart again.

“Thanks Cas.” He murmurs. “I’d kiss you, but not until after I’ve brushed my teeth.”

“Go.” Castiel laughs, shoving him through the blanket.

While Dean is gone, Castiel uses a miswak stick to clean his own teeth and tongue, and he rinses with a spare skin of water he keeps in the bags he travels with. By the time Dean comes back, Castiel is curled in the nest again and he wouldn’t mind returning to sleep if that’s what Dean would like to do too. That only seems to be part of Dean’s plan, as he tugs Castiel against his side the moment he’s back in the nest and kisses him.

When they finally manage to leave the tent after napping and kissing almost the whole morning, they bring extra food to a fire to share in the meals being cooked there. Dean tries a little something of everything and Castiel makes note of the dishes he likes and the spices he doesn’t. They spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the village and making more introductions to other clan members, primarily the warriors of Castiel’s garrison.

Early in the afternoon, Castiel gets pulled away into a discussion about the garrison with Uriel. He later finds Dean sitting in an open tent with the few Humans mates who live with the clan. For a moment, Castiel watches them talk – too far away and in the middle of too many Hamiaah still celebrating to be able to hear what they’re saying. Dean has one leg akimbo and his arms around the other, holding it to his chest as he listens intently to the woman who is speaking animatedly across from him. He’s rubbing one of his fingers under his bottom lip and it’s a habit he has when he’s thinking.

Castiel so rarely gets to observe how Dean interacts with other people that it’s a pleasure to just let them talk for a few minutes longer. They fall silent when Castiel approaches and Dean looks at him with a wide smile, hopping to his feet to meet him at the edge of the tent. He waves goodbye to the others over his shoulder and grabs Castiel’s hand, mentioning his hunger as he drags him away. As curious as he is, Castiel doesn’t pry about the topic of their conversation. If Dean wants him to know, he’ll tell him. All Dean says is that they wanted to hear more news about the rest of the world.

That night finds them around the fire again with many familiar faces. When Balthazar challenges Dean to a drinking contest, Castiel turns to Anael for conversation. Before he knows it, he’s practically carrying Dean back to the tent with the sneaking suspicion that Balthazar has some kind of trick up his sleeve. It’s the only reason he can think of for why he seems intent on getting Dean as drunk as possible for the second night in a row.

At least the next morning Dean doesn’t fall on him and they get to spend the day in each other’s quiet company, Silvanus included, as they hike from the village camping grounds to the winter caves. Castiel wants to show him where he spent the cold months and Dean seems more than happy to follow. It keeps them busy for the entirety of the day, their lunch and supper carried with them. By the time they return, the sun has set and Balthazar has acquired a wineskin bigger than his own head.

Before they sit down, Castiel pulls Dean aside to whisper in his ear. “Don’t drink too much tonight.”

Dean needs no explanation. The understanding is clear in his eyes and the impish grin that twists his lips. He’s even the one who calls for Castiel to leave only a few hours later. His gait is uneven and his words slur slightly, but at least Castiel doesn’t have to hold him up for the walk back to the tent. Unlike the last two nights, Dean is almost very much aware of what is going on as they undress, his hands quick and fumbling while he unties the knots of Castiel’s shirt and qaa.

They tumble together into the nest and Dean spreads his legs to make room for Castiel to get comfortable. Dean is as vocal as ever when Castiel takes him in his mouth, and he only gets more so when Castiel rubs his perineum and traces a finger over the tight ring of muscle further back. The bottle of oil he’d had the foresight to grab before they fell into the nest is shoved against the top of his head and immediately Castiel’s wings spread as wide as they’re able in the small space. They arc over Dean, covering him almost completely as an exultant joy fills Castiel’s chest.

Despite the gentle care he takes in stretching Dean open, hisses of pain are whispered between his teeth every so often and Dean squirms more than Castiel can ever remember doing the first time this was done to him. It was uncomfortable at first, but it had felt good and he can’t help but wonder if he’s doing something wrong. Is the angle incorrect? Is he not touching Dean’s prostate enough? He’s certainly still hard and he’s stroking himself through it all, but Castiel can’t understand the small frown pinching between Dean’s eyebrows.

“Is this okay?” He whispers against Dean’s lips, trying to kiss away any pain he might be causing.

“S’good, Cas.” Dean murmurs, rolling his hips and pressing down against Castiel’s fingers. “Only hurt at first. S’fine, s’fine. Let’s get it over with. Just go slow, yeah?” His breathing hitches and he throws his head back when Castiel firmly rubs at the little bundle of nerves inside of him. “Y’keep that up and I’m – I’m gonna – Shit, Cas, I’m gonna –!”

Castiel knows exactly what Dean is going to do and he leans down to slide his lips and tongue around his penis again. This isn’t how he wants this moment to be with Dean and he’s already resigned himself to waiting until their next time for what he wants. With a strangled gasp and his hands curled tightly in Castiel’s hair, Dean trembles through his orgasm.

He sags into the blankets and for a few moments Castiel wonders if he’s going to fall asleep. The question is forgotten when Dean drags himself to sit up and gestures for him to lay back. They shuffle around in the nest until they’re both comfortable again; Castiel leaning back against the vines supporting the nest and Dean kneeling between his legs.

“Why’d y’go and do that?” Dean mumbles, leaning up to kiss him as he runs his hands over Castiel’s chest and stomach on a clear path to his erection. “Thought y’were gonna fuck me, Cas.”

“Not like this.” He closes his eyes and tilts his head back as Dean’s mouth moves to his throat. “If it hurt you, then I need more practice with preparing you first. And I would prefer to have you completely present when I finally have you.”

Dean’s lips are on his chest now, tongue flicking over his nipples. “I’m right here.”

“But you’re drunk.” Castiel looks down to watch as Dean kisses over his stomach, pausing to dip his tongue into his navel before he finally reaches his destination. “I want you to enjoy it, Dean. I don’t want it to be something to _‘get it over with’_ , as you said.”

He pauses and looks up at Castiel, eyes hooded and fogged by the wine but no less warm than he is used to seeing from Dean. A small smile lifts his lips and he pulls himself up again for another kiss, and another, and they melt into so many that Castiel almost forgets about the gentle stroke of Dean’s fingers over his erection.

“Too good to me, Cas.” Dean murmurs against his lips before he’s pulling away suddenly, wasting no time in dipping down and sliding his mouth over Castiel’s penis in one smooth movement.

Every little trick Dean knows, he uses. Everything Dean’s learned about him in the last several months is brought to light until, within minutes, Castiel’s wings are flaring as wide as they can, curving against the vines and the walls of their tent. Castiel tilts his head back with a cry of his own and spills across Dean’s tongue. Dean doesn’t sit back until Castiel is fully spent and by then Balthazar is shouting at them in Enochian from the other tent.

“What’s he saying?” Dean asks into Castiel’s hair after they’ve made themselves comfortable in the nest again, ready to sleep.

“That some people are trying to sleep and we should’ve finished before he got back.” He presses closer to Dean’s side, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist. “If we’re such a bother to him, perhaps tomorrow I should find Raphael and ask if we can return home now.”

A small hum is his answer for a moment before Dean shifts and his lips move against Castiel’s forehead. “We talkin’ the cabin or, y’know, _home_?”

“Home, Dean. I only have one.”

“Yeah.” Dean kisses his forehead and squeezes his shoulders, his voice a sleepy murmur in the dark of the tent. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

With the first light of the morning, Castiel is already awake and searching for Raphael through the village. There are several Hamiaah still awake from last night, and many who are only just waking now. Few members of the clan sleep later than the sun. There’s always so much to do and with the celebrations starting to wear thin, there’s much to be cleaned up. Families can now spread out into the surrounding glens and the market and work spaces can take over the main clearings.

Castiel finds Raphael on accident, nearly running into him as he comes out of a tent that he knows for a fact does not belong to the Iaidon. He says nothing of it, merely mentioning that he has a need to talk to him as soon as he is available. Raphael gestures for Castiel to follow and they make the slow trek across the camp to where the massive tent of the Iaidon is set up. There is little point in being subtle and Castiel steels himself while Raphael finds a water-skin.

“Dean and I would like to return to my home now, with your permission.” He puts it bluntly, leaving no room for misinterpretation and hoping beyond hope that he won’t be forced into exile again.

 Raphael looks to him, his expression inscrutable. “And what of your duties here?”

“Uriel is a capable goholor. He was in charge of the garrison before, and I fully trust him to do it again.” Castiel explains quickly. “If I’m allowed to leave, I would return for clan gatherings and any missions you deem fit to give me. I believe that this would be best for the clan. There are undoubtedly many who are still uncomfortable around me.” He spreads one of his wings in example, the sunlight playing over the dark feathers and casting deeper shadows between them.

Turning away, Raphael says nothing and busies himself with his own morning rituals. Castiel waits patiently, if not a little nervously, knowing he’ll get an answer eventually. After several minutes, Raphael leads him further into the tent. While he sits on the pile of blankets and pillows that forms his nest, Castiel sits before him on the mats spread over the floor.

“Lucifer is dead.” Raphael starts slowly, looking down at Castiel with the same penetrating stare he’s used to seeing from the Iaidon. “He’s dead, but his forces are still gathered overseas and here. Until we’re sure that they’ve been disbanded completely, we can’t just give you up entirely.”

He knew this was one of the outcomes and Castiel is only slightly disappointed. As much as he would finally like to return home, it’s too soon after the war for that. Maybe in another month or two or maybe when the mating season comes around again, he’ll be allowed to return home permanently. The idea of retiring from being a warrior completely, especially at his age, is unheard of and it holds the possibility of angering Raphael. It might be seen as a sign of weakness and Castiel is anything but weak. He can stay longer until he’s proven himself and given the permission that he –

“I agree that living away from the clan would cause less tension amongst us.” Raphael starts again and Castiel looks up sharply, his thoughts interrupted. “I believe we can afford to relax somewhat, and it would be in our best interest to have sentries positioned throughout the forest and the mountain range again. The post your parent’s once held has been vacant since their death. If you take their position, it would be a demotion.”

A demotion is better than retirement or exile and Castiel barely manages to compose himself, bowing his head to hide the smile spreading on his lips. “I understand and I would gladly accept the position. With Dean’s eyes on the movement of the hamibaghie and with my connection to the forest, we’ll know of any threats that might come from the south.”

“Then you have my permission to leave. I’ll inform my councilors and the clan once things have settled again. I trust you’ll adjust your markings accordingly?”

“Yes, Iaidon.” Castiel spreads his wings and tips them in a bow as he touches his forehead to the mats. “Thank you. Dean and I will leave right away.”

x

Dean muffles a groan into the blanket and pulls it over his head when some yahoo _yoohoo_ ’s outside the tent. He knows exactly who it is and he wants nothing to do with him right now. Maybe if he doesn’t make a sound, Balthazar will leave.

“I know you’re in there, freckles. Come on out and join me for a morning drink.” Balthazar calls again and Dean winces. “Cassie wants us to get along. Let’s go have some male bonding. You haven’t beat me yet, you know!”

That’s exactly where Cas finds him, sitting around the little fire in front of their tents. At least he comes back pretty soon, so Dean’s only managed to work his way through a one and half cups of the wine. Which is _still_ behind Balthazar’s three. This stuff knocked Cas on his ass a year ago by the fourth cup. Balthazar must fucking _breathe_ the stuff if he’s still able to walk and talk at this point.

“A little early, isn’t it?” Cas frowns down at them both, his wings spreading slightly.

Dean thinks he might be a minute away from putting his hands on his hips and going all out with the disapproving clucking. He lowers his cup and points at Balthazar. “He made me do it.”

“I did no such thing.”

“You questioned my manliness!”

“I’m fairly certain you did that last night when you came before C–”

Cas’s wings snap out, spreading in what is probably supposed to be a threatening way or something. For Dean, all it does is get his blood pumping in a sluggishly southern direction. But it gets Balthazar to shut the hell up, which is probably a good thing. If he’d finished talking, Dean might have punched him in his stupid, cocky mouth.

Balthazar kind of gets on his nerves, but at the same time they could probably be friends if he wasn’t such a snarky asshole all the time. Either way, they actually get along pretty well in their own messed up way. Cas seems happy enough that they’re not completely hostile towards each other, which is a plus. It’s never good when the boyfriend doesn’t get along well with the best friend. And for Cas, Dean will make all the exceptions and be on his best behaviour. Granted, he probably shouldn’t have gotten fall down drunk the first two nights they were here but it would’ve been rude to turn down the drinks, right? Probably. And Dean didn’t want to be _rude_.

“What’s up, Cas?” Dean tries for some kind of smile of faux innocence, knowing full well that it rarely ever works on him.

“We’re leaving today.” Cas says simply, wings folding against his back as he bends over and takes the cup right out of Dean’s hand. “Raphael has given us permission to return home now.”

“You’re serious?” Dean is on his feet in a heartbeat and has to stop himself from attempting to spin Cas again. That hadn’t worked out so well the first time and right now there’s a smoldering fire he might accidentally drop them both in and Dean has absolutely no desire to find out just how flammable Angel wings might be.

Balthazar gets up too, but a whole heck of a lot slower. “You’re not – Are you going to be – Again?” Over the last few days, Dean has heard Balthazar talk _a lot_ and this is the first time he’s seen him trip over his words. It must be something either very important or really sensitive to make him be so careful.

Cas shakes his head and leans into the hug Dean pulls him into, wings folding around them. “I’ve accepted a demotion to sentry. You can come visit whenever you’re free and I’ll likely be visiting more often than just for the clan gathering.”

“That’s awesome!” Dean murmurs against the side of Cas’s neck, squeezing him tightly as Balthazar congratulates Cas.  When they pull apart, Dean actually high-fives with Balthazar and they share a stupid grin. This is great news and Dean’s tipsy enough that he almost hugs him too. “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as possible.” Cas steps past him and starts pulling at the edges of his tent. “It’s going to take a few hours at least to pack everything and tie it to Silvanus. And then we’re going to have to take you back to the felanthe to get your vehicle. By then it’ll probably be too late for us to continue to home so we can spend the night there.”

This isn’t the first time that Cas more or less accurately predicts the time frame it takes them to do things. He’s got a head for that kind of stuff. By the time they’ve got everything packed and strapped to Silvanus, Dean’s been knocked on his ass not once, not twice, but _five times_ by the talking bush. At least one of those times was because Balthazar ‘bumped’ him into Silvanus’s side. Which was like being knocked into a tree and ended up with Dean on the floor scrambling out of the way as Silvanus tried to sit on him.

He would’ve been more upset about how all of Cas’s friends are out to get him if it wasn’t for the way Cas smiled at them. It was so affectionate and warm that Dean really didn’t have the heart to be angry. Cas usually only ever smiles with him – a fact Cas has told him himself more than once – and to see him do it around other people is just, it’s fucking great.

After all the goodbyes are said and done, there’s only enough space on Silvanus’s back for Dean to sit. It’s a hellish ride back to the cabin while Cas flies above them. They reach the cabin around mid-afternoon and Cas was right about that too. It’s way too late for any of them to head out. It takes Cas most of a day to get back to his home from here and it’s going to take Dean even longer than that.

All of Cas’s shit has to stay on Silvanus during the night and Dean is completely okay with leaving the overgrown bastard outside like that. They spend the rest of the day playing cards and board games and even after eight months of playing against each other, Cas still owns his ass every time. At least they get one last roll in the hay, so to speak, in the bed that’s been basically theirs for the greater portion of a year. A lot of good memories have been made on it – and he’s not just talking about the sex this time.

The next morning, when they’re kissing their goodbyes in front of the door, Dean is actually a little sad to be leaving it behind. This cabin has been _their_ place and they’ve definitely had some downright _great_ times here. It’s kind of depressing to be leaving it now without knowing if they’re ever going to see it again. Dean doesn’t like that feeling and he tries to leave it behind when he drives away.

There are way more important things to be thinking about. And these _things_ hound him all the way across the Canadian border and right down to Southern Idaho. Neither one of them has said anything about what happened their last night in the tent, but Dean knows the conversation is brewing on the horizon. It’s something that’s been eating at him for months, but they never bring it up.

He hasn’t bottomed yet. Point blank, that’s the problem. Cas hasn’t asked if he could top, and he shouldn’t have to, but they haven’t even talked about it yet. The most they’ve said anything about it was before they first started having sex and Dean said he’d be willing to try it. And he totally is still willing to give it a shot. Except he’s fucking terrified of it now. He’s had eight months of showing Cas he knows exactly what he’s doing with topping, but what if the sex sucks when he bottoms coz’ he’s not a good bottom or something? What if he’s a completely shitty bottom – both literally and figuratively?

Dean’s not sure if he could live that down.

It probably doesn’t help matters _at all_ that he remembers exactly what happened the other night. He wasn’t knock out drunk that time and he’s pretty good for remembering shit that happens when he’s only slightly wasted. And it _had_ hurt, but just the first finger and then it got really good after that and he’s kinda pissed at himself for saying the stupid things that he did that made Cas not want to do it. And if it doesn’t hurt for Cas, then it shouldn’t really hurt that much for him, right?

Except that Cas has a hell of a better level of pain tolerance than Dean does. Not to mention that a finger in comparison to a dick is like, no, they’re way different. If a finger hurts, how bad would a dick –? And it’s not like Cas would just _go right in_. He knows prep first, penis later. He’d make sure Dean was ready but Dean _really_ doesn’t want it to hurt. The last thing he wants is for pain to scar him from ever wanting to bottom again because that just isn’t fair to Cas.

Not that he’s really being fair to him now. Although Cas could’a topped the other night and that would’ve been fine. Probably the best time to do it is when Dean’s drunk enough that he doesn’t have any worries. But Cas wants him front and center for it and Dean wants to be too. And now he’s just chasing his thoughts around in circles.

It makes the whole drive pretty shitty. All the way down through British Columbia and cutting through Alberta to get to Montana and following that through to Idaho. Every moment is spent drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and trying to sing along to his radio or his tapes in some ditch effort to not think about what’s probably going to happen in the coming week with Cas. It’s really, _really_ hard to do. Especially since he doesn’t get to the side road until well after dark the same day and that left him with more than fifteen hours alone in his head.

Dean wants to make Cas happy. He wants to _keep_ him happy. And it’s all kinds of unfair if he doesn’t at least give Cas the chance to top. If he doesn’t like it, they can deal with it afterwards. This is something Cas actually wants and he made a bid for it the other day. Dean can’t just shut him down before they even get a chance to _try_ it.

Sure, they’ve had way less sex over the last several months than he usually would’ve had by now in a long-distance relationship, but that just makes him want to make this work even more. He’s been so good at controlling his libido when they’re together, and even when they’re apart. It’s been hard, but he can carry out whole telephone conversations now without even once thinking about having Cas naked and writhing and calling out his name.

Though sometimes it’s _really_ hard to not think about all the times he can get Cas so worked up that he starts talking in different languages. He says all sorts of things Dean knows would probably set his heart on fire if he understood them. Especially since Cas only ever says schmoopy stuff like that while they’re making love. Hah! At least, after seven months, Dean’s actually able to _think_ those words. But that might only be because Cas keeps calling it that and Dean’s just gotten used to it.

Either way, he doesn’t feel any better than when he started out from the cabin by the time he pulls up in front of the tree-gate. Cas is sitting on it, combing his fingers through his wings and he waves when Dean puts the car in park. He waves back out the window and waits until the tree is out of the way before he rumbles through and keeps on going. In the rearview mirror Cas puts the tree back into place and then he’s sprinting up behind, around, and in front of Dean.

They carry all his bags and the cooler full of food they didn’t use at the cabin back up to the house together. Silvanus is completely unsaddled and everything and he’s leaning against the side of the house like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He yawns and ignores them completely as they go inside and Dean takes stock of everything that’s different now that Cas is home.

“When did you get back?”

“A few hours ago.” Cas shrugs, putting the cooler under the window before throwing a few more sticks onto the fire. “I’ve mostly been unpacking and growing the nest. Tomorrow I’ll make the table and chairs, and grow extra grass to stuff the othil.”

Dean looks back at the moss and vines hanging in front of the entrance and the rolled covers tied above all the openings. “Were the leathers okay?”

“Yes, you did a wonderful job caring for them. Thank you.” He lifts the bag full of Dean’s snacks and books. “Did you want to unpack this?” There’s a different question under there and Dean hears it loud and clear. How long are you staying?

“Yeah, tomorrow. After we get all your stuff put away.” Dean muffles a yawn and stretches his arms above his head, his fingertips brushing the bottom of the nest. It’s all set up and even though it’s been more than half a year since he saw it like this, it still looks exactly the same.

“I was hoping you’d want to go straight to sleep.” Cas drops the bag by the wall and gives him a tired smile. “Get changed and I’ll help you into the nest.”

Barely a half hour later and they’re both asleep, Cas curled against Dean’s back and his wing spread over top them both. Silvanus actually lets them sleep in the next day, roaring them awake closer to noon than usual. While Dean takes care of his morning habits, Cas gets the lowdown on Silvanus’s plans for the day and tells Dean over the grill while their eggs are sizzling.

“He’s letting us spend a week together without him interrupting?” Dean glances out the window, skeptical that he won’t find the walking salad glaring at him. “Really? Why?”

“We’ve had a long enough visit the last few days and he does have his own duties to attend to.” Cas shrugs and pulls open a bag full of his clothes. “He’ll be back in a week to make sure you haven’t corrupted me or the forest.”

He snorts and crouches by the fire to flip the eggs. “He’s just jealous you like me better than him.” After a moment he looks up, squinting suspiciously at Cas’s back while he’s pulling on his wrap. “You _do_ like me better, don’t you?”

“I care for you both equally in entirely different ways.” Cas shrugs again and tosses a smirk over his shoulder. “Could you tie the back of the collar, please?”

Dean pulls the pan off the fire before getting up to help him. After Cas is dressed properly, he turns around and fans his wings forward, circling them around him in a hug. It pulls Dean close enough for a small kiss and a murmured thank you.

Smiling, Dean tugs at the straps that fall from Cas’s bear-fur shoulder pads to where they tie into the waist of his wrap. “Y’know, I was just starting to miss this.” He slides his hands over the fur around Cas’s hips, trailing his fingers over the shells and stones hanging from the string looped against one hip. There’s one more stone than Dean remembers and he looks down at it. “What’s this?”

Cas looks down too to see what he’s talking about. It’s a precious stone, green and yellow and Dean really likes it. He’s pretty sure he’s seen something like it before too but he can’t remember where exactly. “That is a piece of peridot. One of the gem smiths in the village had a collection of them and I traded for it a few months back.”

“It’s nice.” Dean shrugs and turns back to the eggs. “C’mon, our breakfast is getting cold.”

They eat sitting on the floor and then spend the rest of the afternoon finding places for all their things again, setting up the furniture like it used to be. It all feels like coming home and if that’s what it feels like for Dean, he can’t imagine how good it must feel for Cas. He stretches out on the couch once it’s stuffed and put together properly and sighs happily. Things are going great and he hasn’t had a single worrying thought about things he’s not going to think about right now that might start to make him worry while Cas is making room on the shelves in the cave for Dean’s clothing too.

It was discussed over breakfast that it would make sense for Dean to unpack his clothes if he’s going to be staying for longer than a week. Why live out of his bag when he can keep things nice and fresh in the cave? It makes sense and Dean’s actually really okay with the idea of basically having space for his stuff in Cas’s closet. This is probably the closest he’s going to get to moving in and he’s _totally fine with that_.

And then it hits him out of the blue and Dean sits up. “Peridot. Dude, isn’t that the stone I said my mom had a necklace with a pendant of it?”

Cas doesn’t answer, but there’s definitely a pause in the shuffling going on in the cave. Dean gets up and cuts across the room so he can see how Cas’s wings are puffing up and his ears are going red along the edges. “It is, isn’t it? You’re even the one who guessed what stone it was when I couldn’t remember the name of it.”

“Did I?” He murmurs, ducking his head while rolling some of his clothes and shoving them into a small cubby. “I can’t recall.”

“No, you definitely did.” Dean grins and slides over to where Cas is standing. “Is that why you got it?”

“It’s a nice colour.”

“If I’m not mistaken, I’m pretty damn sure you said my eyes are the colour of peridot.”

Cas clears his throat. “That doesn’t change the accuracy of my statement.” He turns away to pick up more of his clothes. He’s got more warrior outfits and casual wraps than he did when he left here the first time. Dean knows because Cas showed him everything he’s traded for over the last few months while he was unpacking.

Dean laughs and leans in, reaching out to tug Cas around to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re pretty cute, y’know that?”

The answer he gets is a blush that spreads down the back of Cas’s neck and a crinkled nose. It’s probably the best reaction ever and Dean tugs lightly at his feathers until Cas turns to him for a proper kiss. After that it takes them a good hour before they get back to work putting things away and setting up the house like it used to be.

Over the next few days, they make a trip down to the lake for Cas to purify it. They spend hours just walking around, checking on all the trees and the animals while Cas gets everything familiar again with his magical Earth energy, or whatever the hell it is. He’s communing with the trees and Dean’s just along for the ride. Which he’s totally okay with doing.

One whole day is committed to getting the garden all set up again, though Cas says it’s too late in the year for him to start planting anything. He’s just going to count on Dean to bring him the things that he can’t trade for at the clan. Cas figures that he’ll be heading back to the clan at least once a month, for supplies and things. He’ll spend the rest of his time weaving the mats that he’ll use to trade with.

On the fourth night that they’re back at the treehouse, Cas waits until after they’re finished a speaker call with Sam and Jess before he climbs into Dean’s lap and spreads his wings. Dean settles his hands on his hips out of habit and tilts his head back to look up at him. “Something on your mind, Cas?”

“Yes.” He dips down until they’re nose to nose and he brushes a light kiss across Dean’s lips. It’s just a teasing little touch, but it’s enough to set a slow fire burning in Dean’s veins. It would’ve been nice if Cas said what he follows that up with _before_ he’d kissed him. “When will it be my turn to, as you say, top?”

It’s like a bucket of ice down Dean’s back. On one hand, the fact that Cas wants to fuck him bad enough that he’s bringing it up is a really big turn on. But the other hand? Dean’s actually, honestly, completely scared of it. Something about that has gotta show on his face because Cas sits back again and tilts his head to one side, giving him that squinty-eyed see-into-your-soul look that always manages to give Dean the good kind of chills.

“You don’t want to.” Cas says softly and like the Angel he is, he doesn’t even look upset.

“I didn’t say that.” Dean shakes his head and pulls Cas back down, shuffling to rearrange them on the couch until Cas is laying on top of him. It’s easier to say things when Cas isn’t staring at him and when he can’t see any kind of disappointment he’s sure is going to cross his face. “I _do_ want to do it. Like that. With you. I just – It’s hard to – I’m –” He gives up.

“You’re worried.”

He nods and sifts his hands through Cas’s wings, using them as some kind of distraction. “I’m scared it’ll hurt, or that I’ll be crappy at it and you won’t like it, or all kinds of gross things are going to happen.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Dean.” Cas pushes himself up onto his hands and knees to look down at him. “Is that what you’re worried about? I may be inexperienced in being a top, but I would never –”

“Dude, no!” Dean reaches up to cover his mouth and gives him a small grin. “You’ve been taught by the best of the best, Cas. If anyone’s gonna be an awesome first timer right outta the gate, it’s gonna be you. I’m just being – what’s the word – irrational.”

Cas moves his hand and kisses his palm in one of those tender moves that makes Dean’s heart turn somersaults in his chest. “Fear is hardly ever irrational. If you truly don’t want to be the bottom, I understand. It’s quite the experience and one that I have absolutely no complaints about.” He drops a kiss to the inside of Dean’s wrist and glances down at him. “There is nothing to complain about when you’re such a gentle and caring _lover_.”

One word and he can already feel the heat rushing into his face. Dean squeezes his eyes shut. “Dude, don’t say that.”

“But you are.” Another kiss to the inside curve of his elbow.

“Oh my God, shut up.”

“Why are you blushing?” Cas tugs his collar out of the way to press another kiss to the very top most point of the star tattooed on his chest. “You know that you’re a very thorough –”

Dean twists his hand out of Cas’s grip and covers his ears, humming a high note that’s sure to block out anything that he has to say. For that, he gets his shirt rucked up under his armpits and a soft bite into the skin under his navel. It’s enough to get Dean to stop and look down at him.

Cas rests his chin on his stomach, looking up at him with a little smile that tilt’s only one corner of his mouth.  “I’m very patient, Dean. I’ve already waited months before saying anything and I can wait until you’re ready too. No matter how long that takes.”

“But that’s not fair to you, Cas.”

“It’s better than taking you before you’re ready.” He tilts forward to press a kiss against Dean’s stomach. “Though I should point out that I will be less in control of myself when the mating season comes and I will almost _definitely_ try to take you during that time. Until then, would you be adverse to us getting you used to my fingers at the very least?”

His brain grinds to a stop and Dean blinks down at Cas for a solid minute before one word manages to get out. “What?”

“I greatly enjoyed the sounds you made and the way you moved when I had my fingers in you.” Cas sits up again and tugs lightly at Dean’s belt. “If you’re worried it will hurt, then it makes the most sense that we get you used to the sensation of being prepared. Would you like a sober reenactment of our last night at the camp?”

It’s so rare for Cas to actually be the one making the move that Dean is a little thrown off by this. He’s not caught off guard enough that he says ‘no’, but it’s still kind of like a treat to have Cas more than willing to blow him. Even if it means that the whole time Cas is also being _extra_ careful with sliding lubed up fingers into his ass. Which, actually, isn’t as bad as Dean remembers it. There’s that little twinge of _holycrap_ at first, but Cas seems to know what he’s doing and he’s pretty fucking distracting with his mouth when he wants to be. If a stellar blowjob is what he gets for letting Cas practice finger-fucking him, Dean could get behind that. And he’s always good at returning the favour.

With things like this taking up their evening hours every other night, and their days being filled with all the little things around the forest and the treehouse to take care of, time feels like it’s flying by. Before Dean knows it, he’s been with Cas for a week and a half since the day he was taken to the clan.

When they both realize this, it’s at the dinner table and Cas’s wings immediately start curling over his shoulders. “Does that mean that you need to go?”

“Nah.” Dean shrugs and slurps up one of the noodles from his bowl of soup. “My schedule’s flexible and I’ve got extra clothes in the car. I’m good for another week at least.”

That gets Cas all sorts of happy, which in turn makes Dean _really_ happy. Especially when Cas breaks out the war paint the next day to re-do his markings. It’s been a long time since Dean’s gotten to help him with those and he’s _way_ better at it now that he knows to use the paintbrush first. Knowing that Cas gets hard from him sitting in his lap is just one heck of a bonus – though he makes unhappy noises when Dean continues the line down his abdomen way past the faded mark and about halfway up his dick.

In retaliation, Dean wakes up from an afternoon nap the next day with Cas straddling his hips while he’s laying on his stomach and he’s painting lines all over his back. Dean has no idea what it is, but the law is laid down that he’s not allowed to look until everything is dried. Turns out, Cas painted wings on him. And the bastard hid all of Dean’s shirts so he can’t cover them up. Cas doesn’t return them until the day Bobby convinces Dean that it’s time to get back to work.

“I suspected as much.” Cas sighs when Dean explains what Bobby told him over the phone. “Without Lucifer calling them to arms, monsters and Hamiamma can return to their ways. You’ll likely have more than just ghosts to deal with in increasing numbers now.”

“That’s fine with me.” He stretches and tucks the satellite phone away in his bag. “I was getting sick of ghosts. It’s the same thing over and over. Salt and burn, salt and burn. They’re pretty easy when you don’t get the crazy ones who protect their bodies.”

“When will you head out?” Leave it to Cas to get to the heart of things right off the bat.

“Probably tomorrow morning?” Deans scratches the back of his head and glances around at all his things that have worked their way in between Cas’s stuff. “I could pack up the stuff I’ll take with me tonight. What are you okay with me leaving behind?”

“Whatever you choose to leave is fine. I can put it away in the cave for when you return.” Cas gets up from in front of his mat and stands on the table to pull Dean’s shirts out from between the mats and blankets lining it. “How long will you be away?”

All of his dirty clothes get shoved into the bag and Dean doesn’t even think twice about leaving the clean stuff. He’ll have to get more from Bobby’s to start leaving out here so he’ll have a better variety. If that’s okay with Cas, of course. Though he seemed more than a little eager to offer Dean space to keep some things. If he swings by Bobby’s, Dean could stock up there, grab all the things he wants to bring here and research a few hunts for the trip to Sam’s place. Then he could stock up again and take care of a few more hunts on the way back here.

“Probably a couple weeks. No more than three.” Dean shrugs and zips the bag closed. The clothes are dirty, so they don’t need to be folded properly. “Unless you want me to stay away longer.”

Cas’s wing cuffs him upside the head when he sits back down in front of his weaving rack. He’s giving Dean a flat look that basically screams _‘are you kidding me_ ’ and it’s all Dean can do not to outright laugh at it. As if he wasn’t already aware that Cas would trade almost anything to have him out here even more often than he’s probably already going to be.

He snorts and gives him a wry grin. “Just checking! Who knows how long it’s gonna be before I drive you crazy enough that you kick me out.”

Right away he has to duck another flare of Cas’s wing. Dean takes it as an incentive to sneak closer and lean against his side. “Since it’s gonna be my last night here, let’s have some fun.”

“What kind of fun?” Cas asks, but the tone of his voice shows he totally knows what Dean’s getting at. And if that doesn’t give him away, then his wings definitely do. They fluff up and fold forward, curling around Dean’s shoulder and pulling him even tighter against Cas’s side.

Before he leaves the next morning, Dean makes the official promise (“Cross my heart and hope to die.” “That’s a _terrible_ thing to say!”) that when he gets back, he wants to give bottoming a try. Saying that makes Cas completely forget the whole crossing-the-heart bit  and they remember that it’s very hard for Dean to leave when Cas keeps making it a habit to press him up against the Impala’s door at every chance that he gets.

Since they talked about it, Cas has taken every opportunity when they’ve been _sexual_ to slick his fingers up and give Dean a whole new meaning to the term _hot button_. When he wants something, Cas knows what to do to get it and Dean can’t fault him that. With all this getting-used-to-it that they’ve been doing, Dean’s pretty sure that he’s ready for it. Granted, they could’ve done it last night but that just didn’t feel like right time. Dean kind of wishes that didn’t sound like such a piss poor excuse in his head as it does.

Cas gives him one final kiss goodbye through the window after he’s moved the tree-gate back into place before Dean drives off. If he doesn’t go, he might never leave and that’s a thought that is as terrifying as it is thrilling. He doesn’t want to think too much on that, or why he’s so happy about leaving some clothes and books in the cave. The best way to forget all about it is to crank the tunes until he hits cellular reception areas and can give Bobby a call.

“Oh good, you’re done your vacation.” Bobby grunts without even a ‘hello’. “Now I can tell you the important news.”

“More important than bloodsuckers feasting on the innocent? Do tell.” Dean rolls his eyes, glancing across the gas pumps at the attendant in his little shed. “Does it have something to do with Sammy?”

“Try the other Mr. Winchester.”

So much for hoping. “What about him?”

“He’s been looking for you. Keeps dropping in asking for you. Even tried your cell but you were off the grid and I had to tell him that satellite phone you gave Cas was broken a year ago.” Bobby sighs and he sounds about as sick of John’s shit as Dean feels just hearing about this. “You might wanna try gettin’ a hold of him.”

Well, fuck. What the hell could John want now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to unforeseen time crunches and monetary circumstances, the art will be delayed until further notice. If you're interested, [you should definitely go buy a commission from Mari](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com/post/75659575918/seraphlimonade-hi-limoncellos-im-opening). Go do it, please! It would really help her out!


	44. Meaning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey Cas,” Dean says softly when he switches to the other wing. “Have I mentioned lately how fucking awesome your wings are?”
> 
> “Only every time you do this.” He smiles into the crook of his elbow, basking in the warmth of the sun and the sensations of Dean’s fingers moving through his feathers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Dean doesn’t call John the first day he’s at Bobby’s. He _should_ , but he doesn’t. Coming back from Cas’s is like coming back from vacation and he needs some down time in between before he can even _think_ of dealing with his dad. He’s gotta get his shit in order before he can muster up the balls to call him. First and foremost, Dean is worried out of his freaking head while he putters around trying Bobby’s trying to keep busy and not think about what John could want.

Maybe he wants to disown Dean? He sorta disowned Sam, but not really. They just haven’t talked in, shit, five years now? No, longer than that. Dean can’t remember anymore. Since he met Cas, all the bad things he’s been holding on to for so many years kind of just melted away. It’s like the longer he spends out in that forest with Cas, the less the rest of the world matters. Sam, Bobby, Jess and John – they’re always going to matter. It’s all the problems in their little family that stressed him out while he was hunting with John that don’t matter anymore.

It’s a great feeling, but Dean doesn’t want to run away from his problems. He’d like to – Jesus Christ, he would _love_ to be able to run from his problems. But he’s not a coward. He’ll face all this shit and deal with it like he’s supposed to. Only after everything’s been good and dealt with will he let himself go to Cas’s and that’s for a _wind down_ – not an escape. Dean doesn’t want Cas and his home to become an escape for him. He wants them to be just as much a part of his life as the rest of the complicated stuff with his family.

Which is why when Cas calls him a few days after he gets to Bobby’s, Dean tells him what’s going on. Cas is, as always, completely supportive. It’s such a mood booster that when he hangs up, Dean turns the phone right back on again and dials John up – even if he doesn’t actually expect him to answer.

He nearly has a heart attack when the line picks up. “Dean.”

It takes him a minute to choke out an answer. “Hi dad. Bobby said you were looking for me?”

“I want to talk about the stuff that happened last time.” John’s voice sounds stressed and Dean figures it’s because he’s actually wanting to _talk_ about something. It must be a blue moon out tonight. “We’ll go talk, have a sit down meal or something.”

Dean puts his hand on his knee to keep it from bouncing nervously. “What’s there to talk about? I’m not hunting Angels anymore and you’re not going to be able to convince me to go back to it. And you’re sure as hell not going to be able to talk me out of my relationship with Cas.”

John makes a frustrated noise. “I don’t want to do that. I just want to talk about it.”

“Why?” If anything makes him skeptical about this, it’s the sheer fact that John actually wants to _talk_.

“You’re my son.” He practically hisses. “I want to know about your life. Sam’s too, if he’s willing.”

Dean’s hand curls into a fist on his knee. “He’s not. I’ll tell you that right now. He’s not going to talk to you unless you’re going to forgive him for leaving. And the first words outta your mouth when you tell him that better be something along the lines of giving up Angel hunting.”

“Fine. But what about you?”

He stares at the wall and thinks about it. Dean does want to forgive him for the shit that happened the last time they saw each other, and he wants John to accept him as he is. If he could accept John too, that would be great – but the whole Angel hunting thing is a bit of a deal breaker, especially with Dean dating an Angel and everything. But Dean does owe John a hell of a lot. One dinner is the least he can do.

“Fine. But a proper restaurant – family friendly style.” Dean sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “And if we’re drinking, it’s one beer each. We’re not going to fight and we’re going to do this _right_.”

At least in a decent and very _public_ place, and without alcohol in his system, John is going to be less likely to throw a punch. Not that Dean’s planning on telling him anything that’ll make him want to hit him. Hopefully. Though Cas’s safety has been right up there at the top of Dean’s list of important things, so he doesn’t really think he’s in any kind of danger of letting something like that slip. But still – it can’t hurt, right?

John doesn’t say anything for long enough that Dean thinks the call might have been dropped. He’s about to check when there’s a rough sigh. “Alright then. I’m busy right now, but I’m planning on going to visit Mary on the twelfth. Come meet me at that steak restaurant Sam convinced me to take you guys to for your eighteenth. Y’know, the –”

“I know.” Dean glances at the pinup calendar on the shop wall. The twelfth is nine days away. “Seven o’clock sound good to you?”

“I’ll be there.”

Their goodbyes are terse and Dean doesn’t feel any better when he turns off the phone and puts it down. He’s got some time to blow and a list of potential hunts as long as his arm. Maybe he could knock a few of them off before he meets up with John. It _is_ why he left Cas’s place, after all.

*

Nine days later, Dean is sitting in the Impala and drumming nervously on the steering wheel with one hand. The other is holding his phone to his ear and it’s on the fourth ring when Cas picks up.

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’s voice is like the best relaxant known to man or something, because it does _wonders_ on Dean’s nerves. He can feel all the tension just slide right out of him. If he wasn’t on the lookout for John’s truck, he’d be slumping back in the seat and closing his eyes. Even if he’s got another twenty minutes before they’re supposed to meet.

“Hi, Cas. What’s up?”

“I found a rabbit warren today with a whole slew of newborns.” He sounds excited about the news and Dean can’t help smiling, reaching out to run his fingers over the feathers hanging from his rearview mirror. Cas’s wings are probably getting twitchy and puffy right around now.

“Yeah? What did you do?”

Cas spends most of the time explaining how he guided the roots of a tree to hollow out a network of tunnels for the rabbits to move into. Their old home wasn’t big enough to contain all the newborns and he knows a fox or two who would take advantage of that. He sounds so pleased with himself and it helps a hell of a lot with taking Dean’s mind off the meeting he’s about to have.

But only until Cas gets suddenly serious. “Today’s the day you meet your father, isn’t it?”

“We’re supposed to meet at seven – that’s in five minutes.” He groans, glancing at the clock. “I don’t want to do this, Cas. What if he’s coming to just shout at me for an hour and then walks out? He’s my _dad_. I don’t want to completely lose him, y’know?”

“I know, Dean.” Cas says softly. “I’m sure it will be fine. You said he won’t make a scene in public and you’re completely capable of handling yourself well. And you can call me as soon as you’re done, if that might help at all.”

Dean smiles again. “Yeah, it’ll help a lot.” It’s pretty great to be able to call Cas whenever the hell they want now. He doesn’t have to wait for Cas to call him, or wait for _anything_ , and that will never not be fucking awesome. “I’ll call you after, then? Even if it goes late?”

“Please. I want to hear how it went.”

A truck pulls into a spot on the other side of the parking lot and Dean’s heart decide it’s time to relocate to his throat. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll do that. I gotta go, Cas. He’s here.”

“Good luck, Dean.”

*

John orders an honest to God meal with beer included, and Dean barely manages to bring himself to get an appetizer – just so he’s not the only one at the table not eating. His stomach feels too knotted up to actually eat anything, but at least he’ll have leftovers after, right? Maybe both of them having food will somehow make up for the awkward silence and the fact that they haven’t said more than two words since they met on the front steps.

After they place their order, John nurses his beer and stares at Dean. It’s really unnerving and, for lack of anything better to say, Dean asks about the weather. “Been starting to cool down, huh? Guess Autumn is on its way.”

John snorts and rolls his eyes, but there’s a little curl to his mouth that actually almost looks like a smile. Did Dean say something good? Maybe John is just as nervous as he is. That would be nice. That would be _very_ nice, actually. It would be a sign that he’s actually Human and not some robotic machine sent back in time by Skynet to wipe out all the Angels or something. Skynet totally seems like something the Hamiamma would create.

There’s another few minutes of silence before John sighs and puts his drink down. “How’s your –” He clears his throat. “– _boyfriend_ doing?”

“Good.” Dean shrugs and looks down at his own glass of water, briefly wishing that it was actually a double of whiskey. “He got a new job – well, kind of an old one, sorta. Whatever. He’s happy – _we’re_ happy. It means I can see him more now.”

He doesn’t like the calculative way John raises his eyebrow and leans forward a little more. “Really? What’s he do?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

John frowns and his hand goes tight around his beer bottle. “I suppose that means you’re not even going to give me a hint about where he lives.”

Dean shakes his head and tries to keep his fists in his lap. “Not happening.”

“And why not?” His voice has the tone to it that used to make Dean nearly wet his pants. Now it only annoys him. He’s _twenty-seven_. John shouldn’t be treating him like a kid anymore.

“Because I’m not sure that you’re not going to try and hurt him.” Frank and to the point, that’s the best way of dealing with him. Even if John goes quiet and gets a stormy kind of look on his face. Dean just shrugs and continues, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the tabletop. “Cas didn’t turn me gay. I’ve been kissing guys just as long as I’ve been kissing girls. You were just too wrapped up in your hunting to notice.” Though he _has_ been doing his damnedest to hide it from John, not that he needs to know that.

Sitting back in his chair again, John looks away and makes a completely subtle subject change. “How’s that supposed _war_ going?”

“The war between the Angels and Demons?” Dean sits back too and runs a hand through his hair. “According to Bobby’s sources, the war has been going on for centuries. Kinda like a blood feud, I guess. They had a big fight go down over the last year when an Angel went bat shit crazy, gathered up all the Demons and monsters that he could and started laying siege on other clans.”

That gets John’s attention. He sits forward and listen while Dean explains what he can about Lucifer without really giving away any information about how he knows or where any of the clans might be. Not that he really knows that, but better safe than sorry. He ends his little recounting with telling him that Lucifer is dead and all the monsters are heading back to doing what they do because they don’t know any better.

“We could really use more hunters, dad. You’ll be doing some actually good if you switch career paths.” He offers hopefully as the waitress puts their respective plates of food on the table.

John completely ignores his steak and baked potato. “I don’t hunt to be _good_ , Dean. I hunt for revenge.”

“You’re probably not going to _get_ your revenge.” Dean shoots back, grabbing a buffalo wing from his plate. “If they’re not dead already, then the only way you’re going to get them is if you start hunting the people who _did_ start that storm. It was _Demons_.”

“Give me actual proof and maybe I might believe you.” He snorts and looks down at his plate. Now it’s Dean’s turn to be ignored while he goes about methodically cutting his steak.

Dean picks the buffalo wing clean before he says anything. “Bobby’s one of your oldest friends. He’s practically family and I’m actually your _son_. How is our word not enough proof for you?”

John shrugs and shoves some steak into his mouth. Dean frowns at him before he gives up, rolling his eyes and looking down at his own plate. He eats every single buffalo wing, picking them clean to keep himself busy until John finally decides to actually say something rational. It’s no surprise that it doesn’t happen until they’re both finished.

“So, tell me about your _boy_ friend – what’s his name again?”

“Cas.” That’s all John needs to know.

John raises an eyebrow at him. “What’s that short for?”

“Cas.” If he knew John wouldn’t try to do some kind of search for it, Dean would make up a fake last name. But if he gets caught out lying like that, it’ll just make everything worse.

“What’s he look like?” He asks before tilting back another swig of his beer. “You got a picture of him?”

Dean shakes his head. “No.” Not on him, at least. He deleted all the pictures off his phone. All the ones he’s taken with his camera are on a memory card that he’s got tucked away in his wallet behind the picture of him and Mary.

After a moment of silence, John puts his beer down slowly. “What’s with the cold shoulder? A man can’t ask his son about his relationships?”

“I told you that I’m not telling you anything about Cas.” He sighs and shakes his head, pushing his plate away. “It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”

John stares at him with narrowed eyes for another long moment of silence. “He live in Canada?”

Dean looks up at him in surprise. “How did you –?”

“A little birdie told me that you’ve been making a lot of trips up there this year.” He shrugs.

Shit. Mother of _fuck_. Looks like Dean is going to need to get even more off the grid now. He can’t leave any kind of paper or money trail around that could potentially lead John back to Cas. It’s a good thing that he already only uses his credit cards when he’s visiting Sam or Bobby. The rest of the time he’s going on cash he takes out during the visits and what he wins gambling.

It’s an even better thing that Bobby told him Hamiamma hunters get bad reputations with the people they’re protecting so it’s better to live off grid. All the cell phones he uses are disposable and he’s gotten really good at being untraceable – even if it means that he’s had to reprogram Cas’s phone with a new number every other time they’ve met over the last few months. One of these days he should probably teach him how to reprogram it, but Cas hasn’t showed much interest in knowing how to work it beyond being able to call Dean.

Again, Dean shakes his head and shrugs. “Hunts. I haven’t picked a hunting ground, so I go where Bobby sends me and wherever the news leads me.” Guess this means he’s going to keep on having to go up to Canada now. Either that or he can try getting Frank to make it look like he’s doing it.

John’s got that calculating glare going on again and Dean doesn’t like it. Every time he looks at him like that, Dean feels like he knows that he was lying. That sinking feeling in his chest gets worse when his dad lifts a hand and waves the waitress over to get their bill. He refuses Dean’s offer to pay for his portion and this really can’t be any sort of good. When John actually follows him out to the Impala, Dean starts to wish he had more than just a knife hidden in the back of his pants.

“She’s looking good.” John murmurs, circling around the Impala a few times.

“I give her a tune up every time I go to Bobby’s.” Dean shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets, trying to hide that they’re shaking slightly. Send him up again a werewolf, vampire, or ghost and he’s solid as a rock. Make him go up against his dad and Dean feels like he’s facing down the devil.

“Good. I wouldn’t have given her to you if I didn’t trust you to take care of her.” He stops at the hood and stares at her with the closest expression of _fondness_ that Dean’s ever seen on him.

That, unsurprisingly, doesn’t last long as John’s who face goes rigid – like he’s turned to stone. But then it’s gone in a blink and he’s turning away toward his truck. He takes two steps and stops, sighing like whatever he’s about to say is going to bring about the end of the world. Dean is two seconds away from diving through the window and driving out of here like a bat out of hell.

“I don’t approve of you fucking around with men.” John says lowly, not even having the decency to turn around. His hands are in fists at his sides, trembling slightly, and it sounds like he’s fighting to keep his voice even.

Either way it’s like ice in Dean’s veins and a knife in his chest. He’d probably have preferred that, actually. Physical wounds heal quick enough but words stick with you forever. Dean looks at the ground and closes his eyes, not sure about what to do with the sick twist behind his ribs.

“But I accept you.” He looks up sharply, staring at John’s back and not sure if he heard what he did – until John continues. “You’re still my son and whether or not I accept or approve of your relationship with this _Cas_ hinges entirely on the type of _man_ he is.”

It feels like someone filled his chest with helium and Dean grips the door handle of the Impala to make sure that he doesn’t float away. “Cas is the best guy I’ve met in a long time.” And he means it.

There are so many other things that he doesn’t say as John throws a ‘goodbye’ over his shoulder and walks across the parking lot. He doesn’t make John stay so he can tell him about how Cas makes him feel like he’s actually worth something. Dean doesn’t tell him about how happy Cas makes him, even if they’re just talking on the phone. Hell, he gets to grinning stupidly when he just _thinks_ about him. Cas makes Dean feel _loved_ and _wanted_ and – and –

And Dean is head over heels, irrevocably, uncontrollably in love with him.

He needs to see Cas. _Right now_.

x

Castiel can’t hold still. He’s tried a half dozen times to sit down and start weaving, or go to the lake to purify it, but he can’t bring himself to leave the salman. He paces around the table, stopping often to glare at the phone resting on it.

Dean never called back last night. The only reason Castiel actually managed to sleep was because he was exhausted from helping the rabbits. He tried calling Dean in the morning when he woke up, but it had just gone to an annoying message. Something must have happened for Dean not to call him and Castiel is worried. Maybe he should call Bobby, or Sam? He has their numbers now since Dean put them into his phone earlier in the year.

By midmorning, Castiel can’t take it anymore. Orange and pink balsamine flowers spread out around his feet when he comes to a stop and reaches for the phone. No sooner has he picked it up does he drop it again, his wings snapping out in surprise at the tingling rush of the forest’s voice echoing through him. Dean is _here_.

Without stopping to think, Castiel runs from the salman, taking the path toward the sandy clearing and the secret road hidden by the trees. He keeps his wings tucked tightly to his back, resisting the urge to spread them and fly. There’s simply not enough room to do so, but it’s an itch under his skin. He would get there so much faster if he flew.

The car isn’t there when Castiel reaches the tree. As he catches his breath, he hides behind the tree and watches the dirt tracks that make up the secondary road Dean once used to leave his car on. It only takes a few minutes before the rumble of Dean’s car fills the air and slowly comes around the bend. Castiel moves the tree out of the way before Dean is even there and watches him drive past before guiding it back into place.

Running ahead, Castiel waits for Dean in the clearing, standing in a veritable field of balsamine. His wings are twitching angrily and his hands are trembling fists at his side. He barely waits for Dean to turn the car off and get out before he darts forward, pressing him up against the warm side of the car, his fingers curled tightly in his shirt.

“You didn’t call.” The words leave him on a growl and Dean’s surprise does nothing to ease the burn of anger in his chest. “Why the _hell_ didn’t you call? I was worried _sick_ , Dean.” He watches Dean open and close his mouth a few times, but no sound comes out. “I’ve been calling you. Your phone was going straight to the message that tells me to leave my name and my number. I don’t know my number, Dean. Why didn’t you –”

Dean cuts his question off with a kiss. Castiel doesn’t particularly feel like kissing him right now, but Dean’s lips are insistent against his; hands desperate where they come up around his shoulders and pull him closer. They slide into Castiel’s hair and along his jaw, slipping away to sift through his feathers before dropping to his hips and around to the small of his back.

These aren’t the kind of touches that Dean uses to arouse Castiel. These are different. They suck the anger out of him with every sweep of fingertips and palm. It’s like Dean breathes it from his lungs, taking it from him until Castiel has no choice but to lean into him and fold his wings forward until they press against the side of the car too, caging them in. This almost feels like Dean is trying to reaffirm that Castiel is real.

Something must have happened with his father. That’s the only reason Castiel can think of for why Dean would have had to drive through the night to get here this early in the day. Slowly, Castiel moves his hands up Dean’s chest to cradle his face between his palms, guiding him back until their kiss breaks. He rests their foreheads together and breathes until Dean whispers into the space between them, his eyes still closed.

“I had to see you.”

A small smile ghosts over his lips but it’s strained with the worry knotting his stomach. “I’m happy to see you too, but is everything okay?”

Dean breathes a heavy, content sigh and tightens his arms where they’ve settled around Castiel’s waist. “Yeah, everything’s good – _great_ , even. I just – I remembered something and had to come here.”

“What did you remember?” He’s fairly certain that Dean didn’t leave anything here other than some clothing and books.

Smiling, Dean gently urges Castiel back a few steps. “Let me grab my bag. I did a few hunts before I met dad and I think that deserves at least a few days with you – if you don’t mind.”

“You’re always welcome here.” Castiel’s wings fold against his back again, but the feathers spread in delight, nearly doubling their size. Having Dean visit more often is something he’s going to get dangerously addicted to. He waits for Dean to hand him a few bags of food before asking another question. “But what was it that you remembered?”

Dean pauses momentarily as he shuts the door and slings his bag over his shoulder. “Nothing. Stuff.”

There’s red creeping up the back of his neck and Dean starts walking ahead of Castiel, keeping a swift pace. Confused, Castiel follows. Is Dean embarrassed? What could he possibly be self-conscious about? The only thing that Castiel knows of that makes Dean blush like this and try to change the subject is – _oh_. Well, he certainly can’t let this go.

A knowing, wicked smile pulls at Castiel’s lips and he speeds up to walk next to Dean. “What stuff?”

He shrugs again and looks away at the trees around them, obviously trying to hide his blush. It’s endearing and adorable and incites a delicious urge to tease him. “Just, y’know, stuff.”

“Stuff about what?” Castiel presses, spreading one wing to brush it over Dean’s back.

The small action nearly has Dean tripping up and he shoots a small glare at Castiel. Clearly he knows what he’s up to, but that isn’t going to stop him. He wants to know and if Dean didn’t want him to know, he never should have brought it up.

When they reach the salman, Castiel places himself between Dean and the mossy vines covering the entrance.  “Stuff about _what_ , Dean?”

“Just stuff.” He shrugs again, looking away. “About you. Hey, you hungry? I’m hungry. Haven’t eaten since I grabbed some coffee when I filled up in the middle of the night. Let’s eat.” He pushes past Castiel and drops his bag next to the entrance.

“I already ate.” Castiel sighs, placing the bags on the table as Dean ducks into the cave to start rifling through the shelves. “Dean, come back out here and talk to me.”

“How about pasta, Cas? You think you could make some noodles?”

He’s starting to get worried again. This feels like it goes above and beyond Dean’s usual attempts to dodge emotionally intimate moments. Should he continue to push Dean about this _stuff_ , which is apparently about _him_ , or should he let it go? His curiosity demands that he find out, but his respect for Dean wars with it. If Dean truly doesn’t want to talk about it, he would have said so already instead of dodging around the question.

Maybe there’s something else making Dean nervous about being here and there’s only one thing Castiel can think of for that. Castiel waits until Dean comes out of the cave with several jars in his arms. He stops at the ledge along the wall to place them there and that’s where Castiel corners him again, caging him against the ledge with wings and arms. “Are you worried about how you promised that on your return I would get to –”

“Fuck no!” Dean looks up at him sharply, blushes, and looks away again. “That’s fine – that’s, no, I’m good with that.”

Gently, Castiel guides Dean to look at him again, though it only seems to make Dean squirm. “Then what is this ‘stuff’ that you remembered? Please tell me.”

With a groan, Dean leans forward to drop his head to Castiel’s shoulder. “Stop looking at me with those _eyes_.” He steps forward into Castiel’s embrace, giving him the space to completely fold him in his wings. “I’ll tell you, just stop looking at me like that.”

Castiel doesn’t know how he was looking at Dean, but he accepts the victory gracefully. He waits for Dean to mumble an answer against the side of his neck. “Talking with dad just made me remember what you mean to me, okay?”

“Okay.” His smile has a mind of its own and Castiel grins into Dean’s hair, hugging him tightly. It’s one of many things he expected to hear, but the effect is no less lost on him. The worry melts out of him again and he only needs to kiss Dean’s ear once before Dean lifts his head to kiss him properly, a gentle slide of lips around small, happy smiles.

*

After lunch, Castiel takes Dean to the beach. They swim and splash and lay on blankets in the sun. It eats away at the afternoon while they lay on their stomachs and use their fingers to draw designs in the sand. That escalates into Dean using wet sand to start building what he calls a ‘sand castle’. It looks nothing like any of the castles that Castiel has ever seen, but it’s fun to do.

The second time they return to the water, Castiel dives to purify the lake. It’s a tiring task and he’s happy to stretch out on his stomach again and spread his wing over Dean’s empty blanket to let him preen it. Dean takes to the job happily, shuffling back and forth in the sand on his knees to spread Castiel’s oil through his feathers.

More than once Dean leans down to kiss and suck at the skin on the back of Castiel’s neck or in the space between his wings, and even in the small of his back. It’s heady and dizzying, especially in addition to the pleasure-pain burn whenever Dean squeezes the oil gland. Castiel almost wishes that they had decided to spend their time at the beach naked – but Dean had refused and worn his swim shorts. Apparently he doesn’t like being naked without walls around them, even if there is no one around.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says softly when he switches to the other wing. “Have I mentioned lately how fucking awesome your wings are?”

“Only every time you do this.” He smiles into the crook of his elbow, basking in the warmth of the sun and the sensations of Dean’s fingers moving through his feathers.

“I really like grooming them.”

Castiel’s smile grows and he pushes his wing into Dean’s hands. “Good. I really like you grooming them.”

*

“Would you mind finishing the clean up?”

Dean looks up from his plate, eyebrow raised curiously. There are still a few bites left of his supper. He swallows and nods. “Yeah, sure. What are you gonna do?”

“I have to rearrange the blankets in the nest.” Castiel doesn’t like lying, but he wants to make it a surprise. “I have them bunched up to leave space for me, but they need to be spread out to make room for you too.”

“Have fun with that.” He laughs and makes a gesture with his fork. “I’ll take care of down here then unpack a few things when I’m done, maybe read later.”

Castiel nods and climbs up onto the table to reach for the nest. “I’ll join you afterward.”

At least what Castiel said wasn’t a complete lie. He does have to spread the blankets out as he tends to form a smaller nest with them when he sleeps alone. But there is more that he needs to do. While he rearranges them, he carefully concentrates his energies to grow red roses along the vines – making sure that they don’t grow where Dean would be able to see them from below. They’re going to play a large part in his surprise for Dean.

While Dean shuffles around below him, Castiel offers his apologies and thanks to the roses that he picks to pluck their petals. Dean will likely be nervous tonight, as he has been every time up until Castiel actually puts his fingers inside him. Once Castiel starts distracting him with other things, Dean opens to his fingers nicely, but Castiel doesn’t like seeing that flash of worry on his face. Hopefully this will help him relax beforehand.

Once everything is as perfect as Castiel can get it, he carefully drops over the edge of the nest without disturbing any of the petals. Dean is stretched out on the othil with one of his books propped up on his chest. He lifts his legs to make room for Castiel to sit with a book of his own. It’s hard to concentrate on reading when Castiel has later to look forward to. If he could do it without giving away his excitement, he would ask Dean to turn in early tonight.

The chance to be with Dean in a way they haven’t before is burning under his skin. It’s stealing his breath and he has to force himself to remain calm and focus on his book. But the questions keep coming to him. Will Dean look different when it’s _Castiel_ moving in him? He wants to know if there will be a different side to Dean when he’s the one opening to him.

When Dean muffles a yawn under his hand, it’s the first sound either of them has made in a while and Castiel’s wings twitch against the back of the othil in surprise. He looks up to find Dean’s book drooping. “Are you tired, Dean?”

“A little. I did drive all night.” Dean puts his book aside and stretches. “You want to take an early night?”

“I wouldn’t be adverse to it.” Castiel’s heart triples in speed and he closes his book too, lifting his arms from Dean’s legs so he can sit up. “Could you bank the fire? I need to go outside.”

Shrugging, Dean gets to his feet and offers Castiel his hand to pull him up. “Go ahead. I’ll go after you.”

He tries not to rush as they prepare for bed. While it’s Dean’s turn outside, Castiel finds the bottle of lube in his bag and throws that up into the nest along with a few cloths before ducking into the cave. He uses a damp cloth to freshen up with one hand while multitasking and cleaning his teeth with the other. If he rushes, Dean might figure out what he’s planning.

They haven’t really discussed doing anything tonight, but Dean had promised when he came back that they would. Castiel is holding him to that. But Dean did drive all night and they had a tiring day down at the beach. If he expresses that he’s too tired, Castiel will let it slide tonight. Even so, he should still be prepared in case Dean _isn’t_ too tired.

“Ready?”

Castiel starts in surprise and throws the cloth onto the corner, quickly adjusting his qaa before he turns around. Dean is standing by the table in just his undershorts. The star on his chest sends lightning under Castiel’s skin every time he sees it. Nodding, he climbs the table first to get into the nest, staying at the edge to help Dean up after him.

There’s only a sliver of the moon out tonight and it’s half hidden by the clouds. With that, there isn’t enough light for Dean’s Human eyes to see the petals. He crawls forward only a foot before he sits back on his heels with a handful of petals and squints at his palm.

“Cas, what’s this?”

In answer, Castiel covers the ceiling above them in glowing mushrooms. It gives the nest an otherworldly glow, but it’s enough to see by and Dean’s eyes go wide at the rose petals scattered over the blankets. Orange and soft pink roses grow along the vines and Dean turns his head to watch them unfurl. He looks all around them in one slow turn until he’s staring at Castiel.

“Oh my God, Cas.” His lips twitch with the effort not to laugh and Castiel counts this as a victory, a smug delight filling his chest. “Are you seriously going all out with _roses_?”

“This is my serious face.” He carefully keeps his expression neutral though it lasts only a few seconds, breaking into a wide grin when Dean starts laughing.

Castiel shoves Dean toward the center of the nest, pleased with himself by how Dean goes willingly and drops onto his back, both arms wrapped around his stomach as he dissolves into laughter that only renews whenever he opens his eyes. He crawls into the open space between Dean’s legs and leans over him. He doesn’t resist as Castiel pulls his arms apart and his laughter melts into a happy sigh with the first kiss.

His wings spread wide above them as Castiel’s excitement grows with each kiss and every smile. Dean’s hands are warm on his back and he’s extremely helpful with getting the shorts and qaa off. Castiel takes his time with preparing Dean. He runs his hands over his chest and sides first, calming him down with gentle touches and heated kisses.

The laughter comes back when he moves his mouth over Dean’s chest and starts humming the song he learned all those months ago. He murmurs the lyrics of _Bed of Roses_ into Dean’s skin, feeling his stomach jump with every giggle and twitch with every moan when Castiel nips at any and every sensitive spot that he finds. Castiel doesn’t touch Dean’s penis until he can feel the hard erection against his stomach and chest the lower he moves down his body.

Being able to make Dean laugh – bringing him joy and pleasure – it’s a heady experience and Castiel drinks it in hungrily. He’s careful with getting the lube without Dean realizing, distracting him with the curl of his tongue around the base of his penis as he opens it and liberally coats his fingers. He would prefer to use his own oils to prepare him, but there’s a significance with that which they should talk about first.

Dean’s back arches from the nest when Castiel takes as much of his erection as he can in his mouth, using every trick and technique he’s perfected over these last several months to keep Dean from noticing the gentle rub and press of a finger at the ring of muscles between his legs. He sucks in a sharp, surprised gasp when the first one slips in, squirming and curling his fingers in the blankets. Castiel looks up and is surprised to find Dean watching him, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He hums a quiet note and twists his tongue _just right_. It’s enough for Dean to hiss a curse and drop his head back to the blankets, his hips twitching hard under the arm Castiel has laid over them.

Castiel is almost tempted to bring Dean to orgasm before it’s time, but he has no guarantee that Dean won’t fall asleep after or if he’ll even be capable of another erection for more than a few hours. Maybe next time he’ll be able to do that, but for now he’s not sure even _he_ can hold off that long. There’s a driving, pulsing _need_ in his belly, clawing under his skin and begging to get as close to Dean as possible.

This _need_ forces his wings to tremble above them, folding up and around to form a dome. Dean doesn’t hesitate to reach up and sink his fingers into the feathers. Castiel pulls his mouth away to groan into the crease of Dean’s thigh, his own hips rocking into the blankets. He steadies his breathing and pulls his wings out of Dean’s reach. It’s won’t do either of them any good if Castiel is driven to the point that he can’t control himself.

“Bring back your wings.” Dean mumbles, reaching down to push his fingers into Castiel’s hair. “I wanna touch ‘em more.”

“Later.” Castiel promises, carefully working in a third finger while he covers Dean’s thighs with nipping kisses. “You can hold onto them all you want once I’m inside you.”

He mutters a string of curses that cut off with a drawn out groan when Castiel firmly rubs against his prostate. Castiel is entranced with the way Dean moves when he’s like this. His hips tremble, jerking up into Castiel’s fist and back onto his fingers like Dean doesn’t know which feels better. Normally he’s the one focused on giving Castiel the most out of this and seeing him now, spread out and accepting everything is an intoxicating side to Dean. Castiel can only imagine how he’ll react to it when the heat of the mating season will take control of him.

When he adds the forth finger, Castiel returns to mouthing wetly at Dean’s penis. Dean’s hands leave his hair only to grope for the pillow, bunching it under his head for support. Then they’re back and twisting tightly. The small noises Dean makes in the back of his throat only fuel the fire under Castiel’s skin. This is it. Finally, after being patient for so long, Castiel will get to be close to Dean in a whole new way and he can hardly wait for it. He wants to see how Dean moves and breathes, the way he looks at him and the sounds he’ll make.

Castiel sits back on his heels when he’s certain that Dean is ready. He wipes his hands clean on the blanket and reaches for the lube again, spreading a generous amount over his own neglected erection. Dean is watching Castie’s hands with wide eyes, his fingers drumming a staccato rhythm on his thigh. Fidgeting, he’s _fidgeting_. Is he nervous again? Maybe Castiel should have been less obvious with changing from his fingers.

“Are you ready, Dean?” He asks, drawing his attention away from where he’s gently stroking himself..

“No.” Dean says immediately and winces, biting his bottom lip as he looks away.

Forgetting the slick lube on his fingers, Castiel slides his hands up Dean’s legs and sides until he finds his hands to link their fingers together. “I’m not going to hurt you, Dean.” He squeezes his hands and lifts them to press kisses his palms. “If you really don’t want to do this, I’ll stop.”

“No, we’re doing this.” Dean shakes his head and closes his eyes. “Do it.”

Castiel leans over him, bringing one hand to rest over his shoulder where he can brush the star with his thumb. “Look at me, Dean.” His wings arch forward to fold around them. They’ve brought Dean peace during the storms they’ve been together throughout the year, perhaps they’ll bring him calm now.

He opens one eye, then the other, and Castiel lifts his hand to his cheek. “Do you want this?”

Dean looks torn and he turns his face into Castiel’s hand. “ _You_ want this.”

“That’s not the question I asked.” Castiel leans down to press a kiss below Dean’s ear. “I won’t do this if you don’t really want it. We can stop now, or at any time during. You just have to say the word.”

“I don’t want to stop.” He mumbles against Castiel’s palm, his eyes squeezed shut again. “I wanna do this. I’m just – I’m being a giant sissy about it. I don’t want it to be bad for you.”

Castiel presses kisses along his jaw until Dean tilts his head to meet him for one. It’s slow and sweet, and Dean relaxes under his hands bit by bit. Eventually, Dean pulls away from that and wiggles his hips a little. “I want to do this.” He says firmly. “Can we just, y’know, not drag this part out? Please?”

Smiling, Castiel kisses him again. And again. And again, harder and harder with each press of his lips. There’s a heat curling in his chest that’s entirely different from the one in his stomach. It’s his favourite kind of feeling and he only gets it with Dean. This is something Dean _wants_ to give him. He’s willing and ready, but he’s nervous and Castiel can understand that.

His hand finds its way into Dean’s hair, gripping and pulling his head back as he deepens the kiss. Dean groans around his tongue and his arms wrap tight around Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel’s wings tuck in to brush against Dean’s hands in invitation and Dean doesn’t hesitate to sink his fingers into the feathers. The feeling is electric and Castiel’s whole body twitches.

He can’t wait any longer. Blindly, because he refuses to pull away from Dean’s lips, Castiel reaches between them with both hands. One strokes Dean’s erection where it lays heavy on his stomach and the other guides his own, lining himself up as well as he can without looking. Castiel swallows Dean’s moan, not sure whether it’s from the slick grip he has on his penis or the first gentle press inside.

It’s hotter than Castiel expected it to be. Hotter and tighter and so good that it takes all he is not to bury himself inside Dean. He needs to go slow and make it good for Dean. Every time he’s been in this position, Castiel has paid close attention to what Dean has done to make it good for him. And he’s learned how Dean responds when it’s just his fingers. Castiel knows just what he’s going to do now, but first he wants to hold still in this perfect connection between them, soaking in the heat that spirals endlessly behind his ribs. It’s a miracle that he’s still able to breathe.

Finally, when he can’t hold back any longer, Castiel lifts Dean’s hips and snaps his own forward. Dean arches off the bed with a strangled shout, throwing his head back into the blankets and gripping Castiel’s wings painfully tight.

Castiel’s dips his head to press a kiss to the center of the star, smiling against it. “Would you like me to stop now, Dean?”

A warning squeeze of his wings is the answer he gets and Castiel sits back on his heels again, his wings dragged forward over his shoulders by Dean’s hands. He wants to kiss Dean through this and press their bodies together, but he can do that another time. Right now he wants to see how this affects Dean – and he isn’t disappointed.

No matter the rhythm he sets, Dean is a writhing mess of sounds. He lets go of Castiel’s wings to clamp his hands tightly over his own, still holding Dean’s hips at just the right angle so almost every thrust hits that special spot. Whether this is over soon or not, he doesn’t care as long as Dean is too immersed in pleasure to feel anything else.

But it’s difficult for Castiel. He is caught between watching every minute move that Dean makes and looking down to see where he’s entering him. It’s hypnotic to see how well Dean takes him and Castiel would praise him if he didn’t already know that it would make Dean blush and hide his face. He can save that for later, when he wants to tease him. Later he’ll be able to hold Dean close and whisper in his ears about the sight he makes right now.

The heat is pulling tight in his stomach and his wings are trembling, spreading wide and curving against the vines supporting the nest. They creak and groan with every roll of his hips, but he knows they’ll hold. He knows he’s reaching his own edge, and he thinks Dean might be too – if the way he’s squeezing around him is any indication.

When his name starts falling from Dean’s lips, caught between moans and gasps, Castiel moves his hand to Dean’s erection again. Within a few strokes, Dean comes with a cry that pulls his back from the nest. It’s breathtaking and Castiel can’t help folding forward, pressing his forehead to Dean’s chest as his own orgasm crashes into him. Dean sags back to the blankets and Castiel wants to go with him, but he needs to pull out and that’s not something he wants to do either.

He likes the heat of Dean’s body and being connected to him like no one else has been before him. This is _his_ and it feels like a sudden loss when he slides out to guide Dean onto his side. Castiel finds the cloths he threw up here earlier and curls against Dean’s back, listening to the ragged breaths he takes. It’s dizzying to remember that he’s the one who did this to him – _Castiel_ is the one who brought Dean to this level where even breathing is something he has to struggle for.

Smiling, he presses a kiss to the back of Dean’s shoulder and brings one of the cloth to his stomach to wipe him clean. “Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”

Dean’s answer is a garbled mess of sound, but it sounds positive. Castiel laughs and tosses the used cloth over the edge of the nest. He’ll deal with it in the morning. Dean reaches back and finds Castiel’s hand, pulling it back around his waist until Castiel is snug against his back again.

He curves his wing over them both and Dean sighs happily. The next time he speaks, his voice is thick with sleep but the words are comprehensible. “We are _definitely_ doing that again.”

Another laugh bubbles up in his throat and Castiel kisses the back of Dean’s neck, murmuring prayers of thanks and blessings into his skin. He knows Dean doesn’t understand the Enochian, but he doesn’t need to. Dean is special and important and Castiel thanks Caosgi every day for bringing him into his life. It was Dean who reminded him of the worth his life has and for that, Castiel will always love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s Flowers…
>
>> \- Balsamine: impatience  
> \- Red rose: true love  
> \- Orange rose: desire, passion  
> \- Soft pink: desire, passion 


	45. Worrying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas looks up again and he’s got this nervous edge around him that’s like a knife in Dean’s chest. “I’m not trying to pry and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” His wings shuffle against his back and curve over his shoulders a little. “I’m just curious that you never mentioned how you ended up talking with them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

“Do you want this?” Cas’s voice is all soft and understanding. Dean hates and loves it all at the same time and he can’t help turning his face into Cas’s hand when he lays it against his cheek.

“ _You_ want this.”

Fuck, that is so not the right answer, is it? What did he say the last time that made Cas stop? He told him to get it over with, right? He’s pretty sure he’s already said something like that tonight and there’s no way that’s anything but a confidence killer for Cas. Shit, and he went to all the trouble of growing the roses and making this so ridiculously romantic that it was kind of impossible for Dean to be nervous while he was getting prepped. But that only lasted right up until Cas started slicking up his dick.

With his legs spread, Dean feels ridiculously exposed. This isn’t the first time that he’s been naked with Cas between his legs – far from, actually. But that doesn’t exactly change that he’s going to have something bigger than a fucking finger in his ass. And it feels _weird_ to be wet down there. Really weird. Sure, it felt great when Cas was four fingers deep – hell, it felt fucking _awesome_. But Cas’s dick is _way_ bigger than his goddamn fingers.

“That’s not the question I asked.” Cas says softly, sporting a small smile when he leans down to press a kiss below Dean’s ear. “I won’t do this if you don’t really want it. We can stop now, or at any time during. You just have to say the word.”

When Dean looks at him, Cas is all wide, dark eyes and flared wings. It feels like his heart skips a few beats, or like someone punched him in the gut, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut again. Bruce Almighty, what the hell did Dean do to deserve someone like Cas? There is physically no way, after everything that Cas has done for him, that Dean could say _‘no’_ to this when he knows – he _knows_ – just how badly Cas wants to try it. He doesn’t exactly _owe_ it to Cas, but Dean made a promise and he’s a big boy. He can let Cas have this and if he doesn’t like it, they won’t have to do it again. Cas promised him that.

“I don’t want to stop. I wanna do this. I’m just – I’m being a giant sissy about it.” The _biggest_ of sissies. His ancestors have gotta be spinning in their graves. “I don’t want it to be bad for you.”

Cas starts kissing along his jaw and Dean turns into the kiss, relaxing bit by bit with the slow, gentle push and pull of Cas’s hands on his skin. It’s enough for him to calm down, breathe, and wiggle his hips a little. “I want to do this.” Yeah, gotta keep his voice firm. Because he _does_ want to do this. He’s just a blushing ass-virgin is all. “Can we just, y’know, not drag this part out? Please?”

It’s a wonder how magical that word really is, because Cas delivers without question. He kisses Dean, harder and deeper every time he brings their mouths together, his fingers in Dean’s hair to angle his head wherever he pleases. The kisses are messy, burning like the sun and stealing Dean’s breath as they blister his lungs. Cas’s feathers brush against Dean’s hands and there’s zero hesitation with sinking his fingers into them, holding on tight for comes next.

Not that he can really gather the brain power to think about that. Cas is being really distracting with his tongue. Then the asshole starts jerking Dean off and it gets downright _impossible_ to form coherent thought. It doesn’t really matter that right now he doesn’t want to think. He just wants to feel and give something back to Cas – he wants to give him anything he asks for and he just needs to _not be a chicken shit_ about it.

For this being his first time pitching, Cas is one hell of a sneaky bastard. Dean doesn’t even realize there’s a cock in his ass until Cas snaps his hips flush against Dean’s ass. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but there’s star fire behind Dean’s eyes and micro explosions under his skin taking away from the slight ache at being filled where he’s never been full before. Dean’s not even sure _what_ sound comes out of his mouth when he arches off the blankets.

“Would you like me to stop now, Dean?” Cas asks, smug and smiling against the tattoo on his chest.

He can _feel_ the curve of that smile on his skin and Dean would chew him a new one for it, but he’s having way too much trouble just _breathing_ to answer him. Instead, he squeezes Cas’s wings where his fingers are still wrapped around the bone and buried in the feathers. Cas sits back on his knees, his wings staying folded forward around his shoulders because Dean is _not_ letting them go right now. Not while he’s still adjusting to all of this.

It’s weird. Not uncomfortable, but just… _weird_ to feel full. There’s something not quite comfortable about it either, but that was pretty much expected. What wasn’t expected is the little lightning bolts of pleasure when Cas angles his hips with his hands and pulls back, sliding forward again in a slow rhythm to love tap at Dean’s sweet spot. The bastard probably went and memorized where it was just so he could nail it every other thrust. Dean would be upset with him for it if it didn’t feel _really good_.

Which is why he really doesn’t think he can be held accountable for all the stupid sounds that force themselves out of his throat. His hands end up over Cas’s, holding them tight while trying not to notice how Cas is looking at him. He’s staring at Dean with wide eyes, his bottom lip caught between his teeth while he wings spread out behind him again now that Dean isn’t holding on to them. Cas is looking at him like Dean hung the moon and the stars and it’s doing all sorts of things to his insides. It’s setting Dean on fire faster than Cas’s merciless abuse of his sweet spot.

Dean is pretty sure he has never, in his life, been this loud during sex and he suddenly has a new appreciation for the isolated location of Cas’s house. Especially when Cas starts jacking him again and Dean comes with an embarrassingly loud cry that he will deny to his dying day. Dean doesn’t even hear the tight little whimper Cas makes, his forehead pressed against his chest as he comes too. After that, Dean is a buzzing, boneless meat sack. His head feels like it’s filled with clouds and it’s a struggle to fill his lungs with enough air to actually _breathe_.

He’s not entirely sure how he ends up on his side with Cas pressed up behind him, dropping little kisses across his shoulders while he smoothes a cloth over Dean’s hip and stomach. “Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”

Whatever Dean answers, it’s definitely not in English – or any language that he can recognize. His tongue feels heavy and he’s way too blissed out to have his higher cognitive functions back just yet. Cas’s laugh rumbles against the back of his neck and Dean fumbles for his hand, pulling his arm around his waist again. He sighs happily as Cas folds his wing over them both.

Dean’s starting to slip into sleep, but he’s gotta give Cas a proper answer – so he doesn’t stay up all night worrying whether or not he actually did a good job. It takes a little longer to get his tongue working again, but Dean does eventually manage to say something coherent. “We are _definitely_ doing that again.”

Cas laughs again, dropping kisses all along the back of Dean’s neck. In between each kiss, he’s whispering in Enochian and Dean has no idea what he’s saying, but it’s nice to hear. They sounds like good things and he trusts that Cas wouldn’t be talking shit about him. Dean settles back against Cas’s chest, closes his eyes, and gets comfortable. He’s totally ready to fall asleep in the ridiculously good afterglow – but then he feels it.

“Oh my God, Cas.” Dean groans and squirms. Lube drying on his skin is fine – he’s used to that and barely even notices it now. But _come_ leaking out of his ass is a whole new and completely gross feeling. “You didn’t wear a fucking condom.”

“Of course not.” He sounds like it’s almost an insult to think that he would.

“It feels _nasty_.” And now he’s going to have to get down from the nest and clean up and he’s all warm and he was so comfortable. This has officially killed the afterglow.

Cas kisses his shoulder and pushes him back into place when Dean starts to untangle himself from him so he can get up. He doesn’t say anything, but he gets a cloth from who knows where. Well, Dean’s gotta give it to him. Cas is nothing if not prepared. A blush burns in his cheeks and he’s thankful that it’s dark enough that Cas probably can’t see it as he lifts Dean’s leg and starts wiping him down. It’s a weird feeling and Dean hides his face in the pillow until Cas is done and settling behind him again.

“Does that feel better?”

Dean mumbles a few swears under his breath and hunches his shoulders a little. “Yeah, it’s better.” That only lasts for a few seconds before Dean sighs and twists around. He doesn’t even need to say anything for Cas to lean in for another kiss. “It’s much better. Thanks, Cas.”

He smiles into the kiss and his thumb strokes little half circles on Dean’s stomach. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Is it possible for afterglow to come back after it’s gone? Because it really feels like it has. Dean’s almost _ridiculously_ happy and he’s feeling tingly-good all over. Yeah. He’s pretty sure it’s possible.

*

“You really don’t have to waste your time and your stuff like this, Cas.” Dean points out, shifting subtly on the pillow he’s sitting on while Cas goes about setting up another weaving frame and laying out more bundles of his materials between them.

His ass and hips have been aching all morning and Dean’s been trying really hard not to let on that he’s sore in places he’s never been sore before – well, except for that one time he ate that suspicious looking chili cheese dog from that street side vendor. That’s an unpleasant memory shared only by him and the porcelain throne in room Six at the Blue Star Moon motel in Tulsa.

“You’ve expressed interest in learning how to do this too.” Cas’s shoulder twitches in a shrug as he sits down in front of his own frame. “I’m starting a new mat now and it’s only logical that you copy me and learn at the same time. Don’t you agree?”

“Whatever you say, Spock.” He mock salutes and shuffles a little closer to his frame, forcing himself not to wince. “Monkey see, monkey do, right? I get it.”

He doesn’t get it. Cas makes this shit look _easy_ , but Dean is all sorts of fumbling wrongness when it comes to tying and looping and weaving and holy shit how can Cas crank out one of these in less than a week? Dean is going to take a month at _least_ and it’s going to be a piece of crap. Cas better not hang it anywhere or try trading with it. Better yet, they should probably just burn it. That would be the best thing to do, really. Then no one would have to see the hideous monstrosity that’s going to be the finished product.

At least it’s a source of entertainment for Cas. Every time Dean misses a weave and has to undo it, Cas laughs. He laughs, folds his wing around Dean’s shoulders and kisses him on the cheek or shoulder as he has to lean over and help him. And really, Dean can’t actually be upset with anything ever when he’s got Cas bright as a beam of sunshine next to him.

That’s why, after a solid chunk of time where Dean’s been working without any fuck ups, Cas throws him for a loop with a question that feels like it’s coming out of nowhere. “Are you ever going to tell me what you and the Human mates were talking about?”

“What?” He looks at Cas but he’s doggedly not looking at Dean, his hands moving nonstop while weaving coloured strands of grass into the straw. “No, seriously, what? I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cas. What Human mates?”

“At the clan.” Cas mumbles, looking away to sort through the grass and straw beside him. “We got separated for a while and I found you in a tent with some of the Humans who married into the clan. You never told me what you were talking about.”

 _Oh_.

Shit. Dean totally forgot about that. There’s been so much else going on in his life since then that the conversation he had with the Human husbands and wives had kind of slipped his mind entirely. It probably didn’t help that he drank a fuck-ton of wine almost every night they were there. Angel-wine is hellishly potent and Dean has trouble remembering half the things they did.

Cas looks up again and he’s got this nervous edge around him that’s like a knife in Dean’s chest. “I’m not trying to pry and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” His wings shuffle against his back and curve over his shoulders a little. “I’m just curious that you never mentioned how you ended up talking with them.”

Dean shrugs and leans back on his hands. It’s not like it’s a secret. “While you were talking with that dickhead from before, I thought I’d go take a look around. I got maybe five feet before they grabbed me and dragged me off to some tent, going on about how we just _had_ to talk.”

“What did they want to talk about with you?” He sounds worried. Dean doesn’t like it when Cas sounds like that. It doesn’t suit him. Even if what they _did_ talk about is kind of a worrying subject. Now that he remembers it, he actually doesn’t want to really think about it.

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair. “They thought we were engaged or something.”

Cas’s wings snap out in surprise. “What? Why? We’re not –”

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, Dean pulls it down enough to show the top of the star on his chest. “Because everyone knows that you painted something on me and I went and got it tattooed. Apparently Raphael or Anna are as big a gossip as Balthazar is. Unless you told him too?”

A blush fills Cas’s cheeks and he ducks his head, wings curling in tight again. “I did.”

“Well, that’s how they knew then.” Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “They were all excited about getting a new Human mate in the clan. Apparently that hasn’t happened in a long ass time.” Saying that feels like a heavy weight is pressing down on his chest. It’s hard to breathe and Dean has to force himself not to think about it.

“But we’re not –” Cas blushes darker and he’s staring down at his hands in his lap. “That wasn’t a part of the Commah ceremony. It was only for our own comfort because of your hunter’s mark.”

That’s the thought that kept Dean from having a mental breakdown in the tent that day. He knows how he feels for Cas, but talking about _marriage_ is the kind of commitment he’s not sure he’s ever going to be ready for. It puts questions into his head that he doesn’t want to think about for a good, _long_ while.

“Yeah, I know that. But _they_ didn’t. I had to set them straight.” Dean shrugs and sits forward again. “Then they asked if you’d given me a feather.”

“But it was only for decoration.” Cas whispers, his wings folding in again. “I even gave you more than what the ceremony entails.”

“I know. They were getting all uppity about it, but I set them straight.” He says that, but his heart is doing this funny pounding thing in his chest where it feels like it’s punching him in the ribs.

There’s more to this than he’s told Cas and he’s not sure he wants to bring it up. Though he probably should. It’s kind of an important thing and it’s something that _should_ have occurred to him a long time ago – which it didn’t. And now that Cas went and reminded him about it, Dean knows this is all he’s going to be thinking about for the next billion years.

“Then they started talking about what an _experience_ it is to have your life extended.”

Cas’s wings whip out again and he lifts his head to look at Dean slowly, eyes wide. He looks horrified, opening and closing his mouth a few times before his wings tuck tight against his back, as if he’s trying to make himself as small as physically possible. The colour starts to drain from his face and he ducks his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah. _Oh_.” Dean rubs a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to talk about this. It’s making his stomach twist like he’s going to throw up. “You never told me about that.” Not that he would have expected Cas to. They haven’t even talked about this whole lifespan difference yet either – and he’s been doing really well with not thinking about that at all.

“I don’t think it prudent.” He mumbles, turning back to his weaving but not looking at it. “We haven’t talked about what _this_ is – or what we’re going to be. I don’t know when it would be appropriate in a relationship to have that kind of talk.”

And what the hell is he supposed to say to that? Dean doesn’t know where this is going. He’s not even sure he knows what he wants. All he knows is that he likes being with Cas and he’s pretty damn positive that Cas likes being with him. But this conversation is heading straight into the _feelings_ kind of talks that just don’t sit right with Dean. He doesn’t like them. They make him feel sick and scared and he hates it.

Fuck, and today had been going so well.

Dean buttons his lips and sits forward to start working on the weaving again. If that’s any sign to Cas about this conversation being over, this is it. But it’s not over. They’re going to have to talk about it at some point because it really _is_ an important thing to talk about. Dean just doesn’t want to have it. He doesn’t like awkward and he doesn’t want anything to change between them. He _likes_ where he and Cas are. Having this kind of conversation is just going to fuck everything up.

 It’s not a conversation they’re going to be able to avoid forever and Dean hates it when he’s right about shit like that. Preparing a late lunch a few hours later is all sorts of awkward and that’s about as long as Dean is able to put up with it. Fuck, he _hates_  having to be an adult about things even more than he hates being right about shitty things.

Sighing, he puts down his half-eaten sandwich and shoves the plate away. Whatever appetite he might’ve had dried up before they even got the food on the table. “What do you want from this, Cas?”

His wings shift against his back when he looks up from his own nearly untouched lunch. “What?”

“You and me.” Dean gestures between them. “Where do you want it to go?”

Cas stares at him for a solid minute, blinking slowly before he answers. “I don’t know.”

Well, _that’s_  just great. “Alright then. What do you want from me?”

There’s absolutely no hesitation in Cas’s answer. “Everything.”

Dean’s throat goes dry and his heart starts skipping in circles around insides his chest. He swallows, licks his lips, and forces his voice to remain steady. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He’s got a pretty good idea, but he wants to hear it said properly.

“I don’t know.” Cas repeats and his wings start to fluff up like they do when he’s getting frustrated. “I just want _you_ , Dean. Mind, body, soul – _everything_. I want you here as often as you’re comfortable or able to be. I want to go to sleep beside you every night and wake up next to you every morning. I want to hear you laugh and see you smile. I want you for as long as you’ll have me.”

He shifts in his chair and looks down at his hands. Something warm and floating is filling his chest and Dean knows exactly why. Cas’s answer is pretty much the exact same as his. Knowing Cas feels the same way about all that is starting to make him feel like his throat is closing up and it’s getting harder to look at him, if only because Dean’s not sure he’s going to be able to handle the way Cas looks at him like he’s the greatest thing since colour TV.

“How –” Dean stops to clear his throat. “How long do you want that to be?”

Cas is staring at him. He doesn’t need to look up to know it. Dean can feel his eyes on him like it’s a physical feeling and it’s what drives him to look again. Cas’s wings are tucked in again, but he’s not hunched over and trying to look small like he was before. He waits until they’re looking each other in the eye before he gives his answer.

“Forever.”

Sweet _fuck_. Dean rubs a hand over his mouth, but he can’t look away. “That’s a long time, Cas.”

“I’m going to live another two – maybe three – hundred years, Dean. You’re –” Something in Cas’s expression fractures and he looks – Dean doesn’t even know a good word to describe just how _sad_ his eyes become. “You’re _Human_. At best, you have another fifty to sixty years left.”

He’s going to be sick. What they’re talking about now is leading into the territory of _permanent_ and Dean’s never handled that so well. It’s something he thinks he wants with Cas, but that’s not really possible is it? Well, according to the Human mates, it _is_ possible. But extending his life means outliving Sam, and Jess, and probably all their kids too. He’ll be outliving John, and Bobby, and every single person he knows now.

The only people he’d be left with are Cas and the clan – and now it makes sense why the mates all chose to live with the clan instead of coming and going like he does with Cas. It would hurt too much to watch everyone you care about grow old and die around you. It’s why the thought of immortality never appealed to Dean whenever he and Sam were discussing what kind of mutant superhuman powers they would want when they were kids.

Dean’s not sure he could do that. He wants to be selfish and stay with Cas _and_ keep his friends and family too. But that’s not possible, and it’s definitely not fair to Cas. Dean would basically be forcing Cas to watch _him_ grow old and die a good two hundred years before old age would take him too.

Judging by the look on Cas’s face, the same things are going through his head and Dean can’t stand it. Cas shouldn’t be allowed to look like the world is falling apart around him. He shouldn’t look like he’s doing his best not to cry. Seeing Cas like that is just making Dean choke up. His face feels tight and there’s a stinging feeling high in his nose, prickling behind his eyes.

“Come here.”

Cas looks up, his forehead creasing in confusion as Dean stands and gestures for him to follow. He leads Cas to the couch and pushes him down to sit on it, making space for himself between Cas’s legs so he can sit with his back to his chest. Dean pulls Cas’s arms around his stomach and that’s all the encouragement Cas needs to fold his wings forward too. He squeezes Dean tightly and presses his face against the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers into Dean’s skin. “I should have told you sooner. We haven’t mentioned the difference in our lifespan since we met, but this is important.”

“It’s okay, Cas.” Dean mumbles, leaning into him and stroking his arms. He really doesn’t want to think about this anymore right now.

This is going to sit in the back of their heads for a long time. It’s a worry that’s going to hang over their heads until they address it properly and Dean hates it. He hates it enough to turn around and worm his arms around Cas’s waist, effectively straddling his lap.

“We’ve got a long time to figure out where we’re going and whether or not I’m going to – if we’re going to –” He can’t bring himself to say it as he rests his cheek on Cas’s shoulder. “We don’t need to worry about it right now. I’m happy with things like this. Are you?”

“Without a doubt.” Cas answers without hesitation, tucking his face against the side of Dean’s neck and curling his hands tightly in the back of his shirt.

“Good. Then let’s just forget this.” Dean murmurs, digging his fingers into Cas’s back. He’s knows they’re not going to forget it, but he wants to enjoy his time with Cas now and he’ll be damned if he’s going to let this thing bother him. “We know about it now, and we can think about it, but we’re not going to worry about it. Deal?”

Cas is quiet for a minute. “We can’t let it go unspoken forever.”

“We’re not going to. But we’re still kinda… _new_. I think we should put it on the backburner and think about it for a while, see where we are in a year or two.” It doesn’t feel weird to think about still being with Cas by then. It’s longer than he’s ever been with anyone, but he wants it. “I’m only twenty-seven, y’know. We’ve got plenty of time to figure this shit out. We don’t need to rush it.”

Slowly, Cas nods against his neck and relaxes against him bit by bit. “Okay.”

“So, we have a deal?”

“Yes.” He breathes and at least Cas _sounds_ like he’s not worrying or sad anymore. “Deal.”

They seal it with a kiss. He knows it’s going to bother him the rest of the day, maybe even longer, but Dean’s a pro at suppressing and not thinking about things that upset him and this is just going to be another one of those things. He just hopes to hell that _Cas_ is going to be able to stop worrying about it.

x

Castiel doesn’t stop worrying about it. The difference in their lifespan and Dean’s close ties with his family and friends is like a physical weight on his mind for the next few days. Since Dean never mentioned it, Castiel is almost certain that the Human mates never told him what the extending of their lives actually entailed.

It’s something that he should tell Dean, but he’s not sure now is the best time to explain it. How is he supposed to tell Dean that their lives would be bound together? One’s death would be the death of them both. The binding of their lives goes beyond the Commah ceremony. That’s just a formality to show that they devote themselves to each other. Intertwining their very _beings_ is so much more than just pledging to spend their lives together.

A few days have passed since the conversation he now regrets bringing up. The curiosity about Dean’s talk with the Human mates wasn’t nearly as oppressing a thing as this. Now Castiel is torn between telling Dean the rest of what it would mean to spend their lives together. More than that, there’s the information that Silvanus gave him. When should he – if ever – tell Dean about First Qaal and his mate?

Castiel doesn’t think that Dean would take kindly to knowing he was a woman in one of his past lives – though he doesn’t understand how knowing that would change anything about who Dean is today. Whether or not he should tell Dean is something Castiel agonizes over for days. He can barely concentrate on doing more than weaving and even going for walks to gather eggs or see the waterfall doesn’t take his mind off it.

While they’re at the falls, Dean insists that Castiel fly. It’s freeing, certainly, but his thoughts are still bogged with everything he hasn’t told Dean and the fear of Dean’s choices. Castiel has thought about them at length and very few of them are appealing. But Castiel can’t be selfish and ask Dean to leave his friends and family to live with him for the rest of their shared days. It’s not fair to Dean to have to give up everyone he knows just for _him_. It’s not something Castiel could ever bring himself to ask.

But Castiel knows, without a doubt, that he would never be able to stand back and watch Dean age without him. He couldn’t stand to see him wither and rejoin Caosgi ages before Castiel’s time would come. It would be torture – and he knows Dean wouldn’t do that to him. And that scares him. It scares him that Dean might choose to end what they have so he won’t have to face the choice of choosing between Castiel and his family.

“You thinking deep thoughts, Cas?” Dean’s voice comes from somewhere above him and Castiel realizes he’s been staring at the book in his hands for an undetermined amount of time now without reading it. He can’t even properly remember when they returned from their walk.

“No.” He answers sullenly, flipping the page just to try and make it look like he’s actually reading. They had agreed not to worry about it and Castiel has broken that deal.

“Hm, you kinda look like you are.” Dean crouches and takes the book from his hands. Castiel does nothing to stop him, but he does look up in surprise to find Dean _naked_. He tosses the book aside and rests his elbows on his knees, regarding Castiel seriously. “You worrying?”

Castiel’s mouth feels suddenly dry. Not for the life of him can he bring himself to worry right now. It’s too difficult to think about that when there’s miles of warm, tanned skin before him just begging to be _touched_. He licks his lips and swallows, managing to choke out one word. “Maybe.”

Dean reaches forward and pulls Castiel’s legs straight, straddling them with ease until he’s settled comfortably in his lap. He takes Castiel’s hands and guides them to his backside, not letting go until Castiel’s hands stay where he places them, kneading lightly. Castiel’s heart rate spikes when he realizes that Dean is willingly initiating – almost _asking_ – for a repeat of what they shared a few days ago.

Leaning in, Dean slides his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and stops with his lips mere millimeters away. “You need a distraction?”

“ _Yes_.” He hisses, pulling Dean flush against him and surging into a desperate kiss.

This is more than just a distraction for his mind. It occupies his thoughts with preparing and watching, listening and kissing and touching, but it does more than that for his heart. Dean giving him this is a symbol that he wants Castiel and trusts him. He’s trusting Castiel not to hurt him when he relinquishes this control, when he lays himself bare for Castiel’s mouth and hands.

As Dean shakes apart under him, his name a mantra on Dean’s lips, Castiel decides that these worries are pointless now. They do nothing but spoil the time they have together now. Dean was right – they can still be happy now without knowing exactly what they’re going to decide in the future. They need more time to adjust to their relationship and figure things out with one another.

It’s a big decision to decide their future like that and it’s going to take time to think about everything it implies. He’ll have to make inquiries at the clan. Maybe this will be easier to stop worrying about if he knew how long the Human mates at the clan took to make their decision. It’s not right that either he or Dean think about this when he’s only known Dean for a year and a half – and they’ve only been more than that for nine months now.

Time is the key here, in all aspects. Castiel just needs to remind himself that things take _time_.

*

Dean snores when he sleeps on his stomach. It’s not very loud, but it is rather endearing. Castiel kisses his temple as he pulls a blanket up over Dean’s shoulder, tucking him in. There’s a small, happy smile on Dean’s lips and he sighs into the pillow Castiel had gotten for him from the nest. The othil isn’t nearly as comfortable as their bed, but Dean was more than happy to fall asleep there while Castiel cleaned them both up after their earlier activities.

Castiel isn’t sure if Dean actually heard him or not when he mentioned that he was going to go to the lake to bathe and purify it. But Dean had murmured something unintelligible in reply, already half-asleep at the time. Just in case he really didn’t hear him, Castiel finds Dean’s notebook on the shelf he’d grown specifically for his growing collection of books. There’s a pen in the spine of the notebook and Castiel finds a blank page, writing a quick note that he should be back in an hour. He gets the time from his phone and scribbles it at the top of the page. Castiel leaves the notebook next to the othil where Dean will find it if he wakes before his return.

He takes a bag with a towel and soap root in it and walks the familiar path toward the lake. The sun is high in the sky and warm on his shoulders and Castiel feels better than he has in days. It may be leftover endorphins from earlier, or it could be how his heart feels like it’s fit to burst. It would have been nice if he had figured out sooner that he should give them both time to think. He would have been better able to enjoy his days with Dean then.

But Dean hasn’t decided when he’s going to leave again. Not having a time limit is heady and Castiel can’t help the tune that comes to his lips as he walks. He whistles a variety of clan songs before he settles on _Bed of Roses_. It’s been more than a year since he heard the song and he hopes that he’s still at least slightly accurate with the tune. The lyrics have seared themselves into his memory, but now they hold a whole new meaning to him and his whistling stutters around his smile.

Castiel’s eyes are on the sky through the tree branches above him as he walks and he barely even notices when he enters the clearing where he first met Dean. It maybe wasn’t the most ideal of first impressions, but Dean had shown his true colours when he had refused to kill Castiel – regardless of the upbringing he’d been given.

That day feels so long ago, the memories made fuzzy by time. They’re overshadowed by every moment that’s come since, but he can still remember his surprise and the bolt of fear when the net had hit him. It had been wholly unexpected and extremely annoying to try and work the heavy weight off his wings without damaging them. The oil it was soaked in hadn’t helped matters and Castiel makes a face at remembering how it had clumped his feathers.

He’s so entrenched in his memories that Castiel barely notices the tingling voice of the forest around him. It brushes through him with a pulse of warning only seconds before he’s knocked from his feet. His head spins, aching where something hits him across the back of the head and sends stars bursting behind his eyelids. The dish with the soap root digs painfully into his stomach, the bag pinned between him and the ground.

A heavy weight is pressing down all around him and a sharp, pungent scent stings his nose. Castiel struggles to his elbows. He recognizes the smell of oil and for one delirious moment he wonders if everything that happened in the last year and a half was a delusion from the net catching him in the head too. The insistent press of the dish against his stomach is the only thing that keeps him from truly believing that – it hadn’t been with him that morning.

“I don’t give that boy enough credit for his traps.”

The rough voice above him sounds familiar, but Castiel knows he’s never heard it before. He lifts his head to see a dirty pair of boots – similar to Dean’s. This is different than the last time. Dean had taken longer to get to him after the trap had been sprung. This isn’t the same as then. Castiel’s vision swims as he tries to shake the net off the back of his neck and lift his head to at least _see_ this hamibaghie.

He refuses to believe that Dean had anything to do with this. Even if it’s the same trap, he won’t believe it. Dean wouldn’t betray him like this. Castiel clings to that thought even as something heavy connects with the side of his head and consciousness is cruelly wrenched from him.


	46. Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is one last thing he needs to say. One last thing that John _needs_ to know. Castiel holds his breath before he says it, using the burn in his chest to steel himself. “I love him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)
> 
>  
> 
> **WARNING FOR HOMOPHOBIC SLUR(S)**

Dean sits up with a start, grabbing at the blanket automatically as it drops from his shoulders to his lap. For a second everything is confusion. Where is he? What happened? Where’s Cas? It takes a half dozen blinks and one jaw-cracking yawn to remember that he’s on the couch because he and Cas had some _really_ great sex earlier.

He’d still been feeling pretty shitty about their conversation the other day, and it didn’t really help that Cas was still looking a little worried. So Dean had done something to cheer them both up and it worked _fantastically._ Cas was all sorts of tender and smiling there at the end, so it was _definitely_ worth the pain he’s gonna have in his ass the rest of the day.

How long ago was that? Long enough that the ache has settled into his hips again. Was that what woke him up? No, he’s slept through that once already and it didn’t bother him then. Something doesn’t feel right, like he’s got indigestion. It’s an itch at the back of his brain and he doesn’t quite know what it is.

Yawning again, Dean lets the blanket fall away and he scratches his stomach absently, glancing around the room. “Cas, you here?”

It doesn’t sound like he is. All Dean can hear is birds and crickets. When he puts his hand down to push himself up paper crinkles under his palm. His notebook is definitely not where he put it last. He picks it up and squints at the strangely uniform writing while he stands up. Is it weird that Dean finds it really endearing that Cas left him a note? Nah, it’s not. Cas is just kinda adorable that way.

He tosses the notebook down on the table and drops the blanket. It’s all Cas’s fault that Dean’s started walking around in the buff anyways. He doesn’t really do it a lot, mostly if it’s after sex or a sponge bath. They’re in the middle of the forest so there’s nothing to see him out here anyways, except a few wild animals – and maybe Silvanus. It’s about time that he showed up anyways. That Tree-rannosaurus usually gives them a few days to themselves before he shows up to be a gigantic cockblock.

Cas wiped him down earlier, but Dean feels a little sticky _back there_ and he walks funny to the piss patch outside. Once he’s back inside, Dean washes his hands in a jar of water at the back of the cave and soaks a cloth in the spring. This would be awkward to do if anyone else – even Cas – was around, but since he’s alone Dean has no problem with hiking a leg up on the edge of the spring and giving his downstairs a thorough rub down.

Might as well do his whole body while he's at it. The cool water makes him shiver, but it feels good enough and wakes him up well enough. Like a cup of coffee without the coffee. Too bad that it does nothing to take away from that turning in his stomach about something not feeling right. It would be nice if he could tell _what_ it was. But it's like the hairs on the back of his neck keep standing up no matter how many times he runs a cloth over them.

After he's all cleaned up, Dean grabs some clothes from the shelves behind him. That _not right_ feeling really isn't getting any better and there's a feeling of dread settling in the back of his mind. Maybe it’s just his paranoia talking, but Dean has the vague feeling that all this might have something to do with Cas. He pulls a t-shirt on over his head and heads back to the table for the notebook. Cas had written the time down and all Dean needs to do is compare that his cell phone.

Okay. Cas wrote he'd be back in an hour and that was… an hour and ten minutes ago. That's not too bad. Maybe he got caught up in swimming, or he stopped to help a wounded animal, or a hundred billion other things that Cas could've done instead of coming straight back. It's nothing to worry about. Probably. Maybe Dean's stomach is just feeling weird because he hasn't eaten since breakfast and that was a while ago. Instead of worrying, he should get lunch started. He could cook something up for Cas when he gets back. That'd be way more productive than sitting around twiddling his thumbs and worrying about him being a little late.

He digs out some cheese and slices of bread, totally jamming the grilled cheese vibe right now. But by the time he's gone back to the cave to get a pan, his head has started to hurt too. This is not a good thing. Dean doesn't like feeling like this. He can't exactly remember any time he's felt quite like this, but something isn't right and it's making him feel sick.

A cup of water doesn't do anything for it and Dean downs a second and third before he changes his mind about cooking. Everything goes right back into the cooler and he heads for his boots where they're resting beside the entrance under his hanging jacket. So what if Cas is a little late? It's no excuse to keep Dean from going for a little walk to meet him. Either he's going to run into him on the path to the lake, or he'll meet him at the lake.

It doesn’t matter as long as he knows Cas is okay.

Dean shoves his foot in one of the boots and braces his hand against the wall, reaching down to pull his boot on properly. The moment his hand touches the wood, something _screams_ through his head. It roars between his ears – a sound without a sound. He ends up on his ass, chest heaving under his t-shirt and his whole damn head spinning.

"What the _fuck_ was that?" He whispers, scared to talk any louder and staring at the tree.

His heart is punching out one hell of a hard rhythm against his ribs and Dean gets his knees under him. It was a voice. That was an honest to God _voice_ in his head and it sure as fuck wasn't _his_. There weren't even any actual words – not that he could tell. It was more like a _feeling_ – like fear and worry and anger and all sorts of different feelings that scare the ever loving fuck out of him.

Slowly, carefully, Dean reaches out to touch the wood again. It happens again the instant his fingertips brush the grain. At least  this time he's ready for it. The longer he maintains touching the tree, the darker the world around him gets. It's like the light is getting sucked out of everything around him and it's getting harder to breathe as the air grows heavier and heavier. Dean falls away again, clutching at his shirt and gasping for breath.

Something is wrong. Something is _really_ fucking wrong and Dean can only think of one thing that would have the goddamn _forest_ screaming loud enough for _him_ to hear. _Cas_.

He scrambles to get his boots on, barely managing to do them up before he's stumbling to his feet and barreling out of the house. Dean cuts through the trees to the little dirt trail that leads to the main path. It's the one that cuts through the clearing where he met Cas and heads toward the lake. If anything happened to Cas, it would’ve probably been on this path. He rarely ever strays from it on his way to the lake and according to his note, that's where he was going.

Dean's heart is in his throat the entire way. He trips over roots and rocks, nearly going to his knees a few times. Nothing stops him. Every time he staggers, Dean gets his feet back under him and keeps going. He can't remember the last time he ran this hard, or this fast. Despite Sam's opinion on Dean's diet and exercise regime, Dean is in pretty good shape and he knows for a fact that he could outrun Sam any day of the week. Whether or not he'd be able to keep his lead in a long distance sprint is up for debate.

There's a broken record in his head. It's repeating Cas's name like a bass beat for the lyrics of _oh God what if something happened to him_. What could have happened? Jesus Christ, what if it was another hunter? That thought is like a cold chill down Dean’s back and he nearly chokes on his next breath.

Fuck, he should have brought a weapon. He usually leaves them all in the trunk of his car instead of bringing them into Cas’s place. The tree house is like a sacred place. No weapons allowed. But the Impala is too fucking far for him to even think about turning around and going back. If Cas is fighting with anyone, Dean’s going to throw himself into that with just his fists.

When he hits the clearing, Dean skids to a stop and sucks in great whooping breaths. The broken record in his head changes to include _no, oh fuck no_. It’s like a flashback to more than a year ago. There’s a handful of dark feathers scattered in the dirt, mixed in with splattered puddles of black liquid. His heart stutters in his chest and Dean crouches by one of the biggest puddles, dragging his fingers through it and bringing them to his face for a quick sniff test.

"Oil." He chokes on the word and rubs his fingers clean on his t-shirt as he stands up again, glancing around the clearing to try and get a picture of what happened here.

An all too familiar net is half stuffed under some bushes off to one side. Dean runs over, his heart in his throat and hoping to God he's not going to find a broken and battered Angel hidden with it. There's nothing but a few more feathers caught in the net and Cas’s bath-bag. Dean can't help breathing a small sigh of relief. He hasn’t seen any blood yet and there's no body. This is a good sign. It means Cas might still be alive.

Looking down at the net, Dean chews his bottom lip and thinks. It took a lot of time and expensive materials to create the net canon. He made _one_ and never sold it off to other hunters because it was a pain in the ass to build. Dean only ever made that specific one and that was for _his_ use – because John couldn't be bothered to use most of his _‘fancy’_ traps. He glances up and looks around at the trees, finding the bent branches and the half-hidden canon.

One in existence. _One_. And it's _supposed_ to be in storage at Bobby's. It's not supposed to be _here_. And it sure as hell shouldn't be firing a fucking net at _Cas_. If he went back and looked, he'd probably find the sensors placed along the path. Dean can feel a sick burn at the back of his throat, like he's going to throw up. It stings and he breathes deep through his nose, trying to calm himself down.

It’s John. It can’t be anyone else. _John_ has Cas. His fucking _dad_ has _Cas_. No. No, oh no, oh no, no, no, no, _no_. This can't be happening. How the _hell_ can this be happening? How did John find them? Did he follow Dean from the restaurant? But Dean was _sure_ he wasn't followed. Hell, he drove all fucking night to get here and he's gotten into the habit of checking in the rearview mirror for anyone following him. He's _sure_ that he didn't see anyone when he turned off onto the side road that he takes to the tree-gate.

If he left the traps, that means John wanted to get the hell out of here. When they used to hunt together, John would pack up the Angel in his truck-du-jour and leave Dean behind to clean everything up. It was his job to make it look they were never there before he left to go join John. By the time he caught up, his dad had either already gotten frustrated enough that he killed the Angel, or he got there in time to find an excuse not to be in that shed behind Bobby's where John got his torture on.

Ignoring the traps, Dean turns on his heel and runs for the road. John probably parked not far from where Dean used to – by the big ass rock that was his unofficial parking spot. He's not entirely sure if that's true, but since John put the canon in the _same fucking tree_ , Dean's going to make a leap of faith here and assume he didn't do much else different.

As he runs, Dean glances down and takes in the broken branches on the bushes and the crushed grasses, flowers, and various flora. There are a few stray feathers here and there, and Dean would bet his bottom dollar that John fucking _dragged_ Cas back to the car. Part carried, part dragged. There's no blood anywhere, so there's at least _some_ hope that Cas is still alive.

If Dean knows his dad, John wouldn't go to all this trouble to catch Cas just to kill him. His dad _knows_ that Cas has gotta be an English speaking Angel. He’ll be the first sure bet that John’s managed to get his hooks in and he's not going to let Cas go easily – especially if he still believes that Angels were behind what happened to Mary.

But what the hell did Dean do to make John suspicious enough to follow him? He combs his brain, trying to remember everything that happened during dinner. John hadn't been happy that Dean wouldn't tell him anything about Cas, but he let that go easy enough. The only point of the evening that he got weird was at the very end when he walked away from the car. Right up until then, he'd almost seemed like he was enjoying the evening – as much as John Winchester can enjoy anything. Then again, that might have something to do with how pleased he was to see the Impala.

"Jesus fucking _Christ_." Dean groans and if he wasn't busy running, he'd slam his palm against his forehead. "The fucking _feathers_."

Of course his dad saw the feathers. They were hanging from the mirror for the whole damn world to see because Dean was just so fucking _proud_ of having them. He should've taken the damn things down before he went inside. He should've known that John would want to look at the car afterward. Stupid. Dean had been so fucking _stupid_.

The drag marks stop at the road when Dean hits the dirt ruts. There are fresh tire treads in the dirt and Dean crouches by them, staring at the pattern and trying to remember if he's ever seen John's truck wheels. Not that it matters. No one else could be here. Dean’s sure of it. Which means he shouldn't be wasting his goddamn time poking around here. He needs to go after them.

Would John take Cas back to Bobby's like he used to with all the other Angels? Or would he go somewhere else? Either way, he'd have to go through that town to get out of the mountains. That's an hour's drive at least. He'd probably stop for gas too. So Dean needs to move. He needs to break every speed limit known to mankind and get on his trail – and hope to hell that he doesn't choke on his heart the whole way. Something heavy is settling in his chest, something scared but _focused_.

Find John. Save Cas.

That's all his brain is narrowing down to now. Phone. Bobby. Impala. John. Cas. That's what he needs to do now. He _might_ try calling John, but he doesn't have the slightest expectation that his dad will actually answer. Dean needs to get back to the house where his jacket, phone, and keys are. If he wasn't running on adrenaline right now, he'd probably be exhausted. _No one_ hurts or touches Cas and gets away with it. Not even his own dad.

From here, the tree-gate and his parking spot are a quicker route to the house than to cut through the forest back to the clearing to take the path again. Dean vaults a few roots around the tree-gate and books it up the tracks to his car, ignoring the ache in his legs. This is nothing compared to what Cas must be going through and he hopes Cas is unconscious or something. He doesn't want him awake and subjected to whatever the hell John is going to be saying to him.

He's short of breath when he hits the house, slapping away the hanging vines as he skids through the entrance. His phone is on the table and Dean grabs that and his jacket on the way back outside. While he fumbles to pull it on and find his keys, he hits the speed dial for Bobby. It's hard to run and hold the phone to his ear, but he makes do as he stumbles along the path back toward the Impala.

"Bobby!" Dean doesn't give him the chance to say anything. "Bobby, do you know where John is?"

"Well hello to you too, princess." He grumbles, so obviously annoyed that it just about slaps Dean in the face. " You running a marathon?"

"Answer the question. What's dad's base?"

"Base? He doesn't have any kind of base. Not since I told him he ain't allowed to use the back shed now that I'm out of the game."

Dean swears violently and digs his keys out of his pocket. "He got Cas. Sometime in the last two hours he fucking _got Cas_. Stole the fucking canon right outta your storage sh–"

That last word was going to be 'shed' but Dean never gets the chance to say it. Something big hits him from behind and he eats dirt instead. It's only from sheer determination that he doesn't let go of keys, but he _does_ let go of the phone. It goes bouncing off down the path ahead of him. 

Rolling over, Dean nearly swallows his tongue. Silvanus is standing over him, jagged wooden teeth inches from his face and a growl shaking the very air. He roars and Dean presses himself back into the dirt of the path, wincing and closing his eyes. All he has in his hands are his keys and he flails out the other one, groping for something – _anything_ – that he might be able to use to get Silvanus off him.

All he manages to find is another root and the moment his fingers curl over that, the colours start leeching out of the forest like they did before. That not-a-voice is in his head again, curling through his brain. Even if Dean doesn't understand Silvanus, the forest does and it's playing as some kind of translator right now. Silvanus is worried and scared and _angry_. Dean doesn’t need the forest to tell him that Silvanus wants to know what the hell is going on.

He waits until Silvanus stops snarling long enough to actually shut his mouth. The moment it’s closed, Dean reaches up and shoves him back. All that manages to do is scoot him further down the path on his back, but at least that gives him the space to scramble to his feet.

“You’re just wasting time roaring at me, y’know.”

Silvanus growls and paws the ground, looking for all the world like he’s going to charge.

“I know as much as you do. Cas got grabbed by a hunter and I’m pretty damn sure that it’s my dad.” He turns away and finds the phone. It’s not busted, but the bounce turned it off. “I’m going after him and the longer you distract me here, the further they’re getting away.”

With a surprised huff, Silvanus’s growls cut off. Dean glances over his shoulder at him while the phone boots up again and he’s more than a little surprise by just how _horrified_ Silvanus looks. He wasn’t even aware that a face made of wood could achieve that kind of expression. It’s probably not all that different from how Dean looked when he saw the net. But it’s nothing he can spare the time to think about right now. He’s got to get going again.

Dean jogs down the path to the Impala, calling Bobby again as soon as the phone has powered back on.

“What the hell happened?” Bobby cuts him off the moment the line picks up.

“I got tackled by a walking salad.” He huffs, jumping down the path into the little basin where the car is kept. “Do you have any way of tracking dad? Can you get Frank to find his cell phone or something? Is there GPS in his truck? I _need_ to know which way he went and how far he is.”

Dean really doesn’t like Bobby’s silence while he struggles with the keys to open the trunk and get at his damn guns. He really hopes he’s not going to have to use it against his dad, but if John tries _anything_ to hurt Cas, a clip of the shoulder or a well aimed shot to the foot might put him down long enough to give Cas the chance to get to safety.

“He’s been untraceable long before you two went your separate ways.” Bobby sighs and there’s the sound of rustling in the background. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises, Dean.”

“As long as you try. I’m pretty sure I know the route he took out of the mountains and I’m going to try and follow him on that.” He grabs a couple magazines of bullets and shoves them in his coat pocket before digging his favourite gun out of its case. While balancing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, Dean tucks the gun into the back of his pants. “I’ve got to get going but if you get _anything_ , call me. I’ll give you a heads up if I find – hold on.”

Silvanus followed him to the clearing and he’s standing at Dean’s shoulder, snorting great gusts of wind against the back of his neck. Dean glances back at him before he returns to his call. “Bobby, I gotta go.”

“Good luck.”

He turns around to give Silvanus the stink eye. “What? What do you want? I’ve gotta go after – Why are you doing that?” Silvanus dips down on his haunches and Dean frowns at him. The only time he’s seen Silvanus sit like that is when someone is going to climb onto his back. “You want me to ride you?”

Wonder of wonders, Captain Cruciferous actually nods. Dean grabs a flip-knife before he slams the trunk, carefully strapping it to his belt while he sizes Silvanus up. “But you can’t leave the forest.”

Every time Silvanus paws the ground, three deep furrows are dug into it. Dean fixes his jacket right before he approaches him. “You’re gonna leave the forest whether I’m with you or not, huh?”

That gets him another nod and Dean puts a hand on the side of Silvanus’s head. “Cas told me once that you two have some kind of hoodoo magical bond bullshit. Does that mean you can find him?”

Another nod sends Dean’s heart soaring and he doesn’t waste a second with climbing up into the spot on Silvanus’s back, getting himself a good hand hold. “We are gonna get in _so_ much shit for this.” Silvanus only huffs and rolls what passes for his shoulders, shaking himself out as he gets to his feet.

Dean takes a deep breath to steady himself before he leans down over Silvanus’s back. “Let’s go.”

x

The first thing Castiel registers is the ache in his head. The next is the roaring vibrations all around him and how extremely uncomfortable he is. His wings feel cramped and tacky with the oil settling in his feathers. The very air around him is tight, almost claustrophobic. Castiel lifts his head slowly, unsurprised to find that it’s the only part of him he _can_ move. There are ropes digging tightly into his ankles and his wrists, keeping them bound behind his back. Even his wings are tied down and though it isn’t painful, it’s definitely not comfortable.

He’s thankful for it. Uncomfortable means he still has them.

Castiel is in a vehicle. He recognizes the rumbling of the engine, though it doesn’t sound the same as Dean’s car. It doesn’t smell the same either. Even despite the fact that he’s never actually been completely inside Dean’s vehicle, he still knows what it smells like. He’s leaned in through the window to kiss Dean goodbye or ducked through the door to get any bags from the back seat on several occasions.

Ah, that’s where he must be – on the back seat. All he can see from his vantage point are the doors and the sky through the windows. In front of him are the backs of two seats and he can’t see the hamibaghie who captured him. It’s a sobering, stomach turning thought to name his captor and Castiel drops his head back to the seat as a heavy weight settles in his chest. He’s been caught by _another_ hamibaghie – and worst of all, he actually _knows_ who this one is.

“You’re Dean’s father.” Castiel’s voice cracks around the words, his throat constricting around each syllable as if he doesn’t want to say them. He doesn’t want to be right. He doesn’t want this to be true.

The silence in the vehicle changes, becoming tense and angry. Castiel can practically taste it in the air as something creaks behind one of the seats, a weight shifting. He holds his breath and waits, listening for anything and everything. The most that he can discern over the rumbling of the vehicle is steady breathing that sounds a little too forced.

“I knew something wasn’t right in his head when he said he was dating a _man_.” John Winchester’s voice is deep and rough. Castiel can hear Dean in that voice. “No son of mine is a fucking _faggot_.”

His stomach sinks at the hatred behind the word. Castiel doesn’t recognize the slur, but he can understand its meaning well enough. “You said you accepted him.”

A harsh, barking laugh answers him. “I had to say _something_ to keep him from getting suspicious. If he caught wind of me knowing, he could’ve warned you. If you weren’t messing with his head, the fool boy would’ve known better than to go to you after meeting me. He never would've left anything out in the Impala for me to see.”

Castiel briefly closes his eyes in resignation. He knows exactly what John is talking about. Dean is very proud of the coloured mating feathers hanging from the mirror in his car. There’s something else John said that catches his attention and Castiel lifts his head again, frowning at the back of the seat. “I haven’t done anything –”

“You’ve been warping his _brain_.” John snaps. “You’ve got him to let you go and now you’re playing some sick game of revenge on him. All these so called _monsters_ you’ve got him going after – I bet they’re just regular people and all Angel-haters.” He growls and slams his hand down on something. “He went and tried hunting you and now you’re getting your kicks raping him and fucking up his head.”

This is unexpected. How deep does John’s hatred for Hamiaah go? All Dean told Castiel was that his father holds Hamiaah responsible for Mary’s death. From Dean’s recounting of his meetings with his father, It had seemed like John was accepting everything that he’d been told him about Hamiamma and their children. Clearly that isn’t the case and a sour taste fills the back of Castiel’s mouth. Dean had been so hopeful. This is going to crush him.

"You're going to pay for this." John hisses. "When I'm done with you, my son better be back to normal and you better be telling me who killed my wife."

Castiel has nothing to say to that. He knows it won't do him any good. John is well beyond anything either he or Dean had thought. With his acceptance of Dean, they had thought they were making progress. In the last week since Dean's meeting with John, neither of them had even stopped to think that he would have followed Dean here. It was a huge oversight on both their parts, but acknowledging that changes absolutely nothing.

A small part of Castiel wants to hope that Dean woke up and noticed his absence shortly after he'd left. He wants to hope that Silvanus was nearby and that he will show up at any moment to help him. That very small, infinitesimal part of him wants to believe that someone is going to save him, or that John won't be as prepared as he should be and Castiel will find a way to escape. He _wants_ to believe in all of that, but he can't.

Dean is a heavy sleeper whenever he naps after they have sex. It would be a miracle if he woke up before Castiel was supposed to have returned. As for Silvanus, Castiel hasn't felt his presence in more than a week. He rarely ever hides himself from their bond and the only time Castiel can't feel him is when he's too far away. There's no way Silvanus will arrive in time to do anything to help.

The only glimmer of hope that Castiel has left is that Dean will wake up soon and figure out what happened – or he might already be awake, depending on how long Castiel had been unconscious. Once he figures out that Castiel won’t be returning, Dean will act quickly. And he has access to a number of Human things that Castiel can't even begin to comprehend without extensive hours of explanation. For all Castiel knows, he could already be on his way.

Maybe this would be easier if Castiel could feel the forest. At the very least, it would be more comforting to have some fresh air. He doesn't dare ask that John open a window. Castiel doesn't doubt that he would be denied this one grace purely to spite him. If his head wasn't still spinning from the blow John gave him earlier, maybe he could think properly and figure a way out of this.

Twisting onto his side, Castiel manages to get a better view of the sky through one of the windows. Every so often he catches the top of a tree whipping past the bottom of the window. Nothing about that does anything to soothe the hopeless riot in his chest. If anything, it makes his head and stomach spin and he has to look away again, resting his temple against the seat under him and staring at the back of John’s chair.

Would it do any harm to talk to him? This might be the only chance Castiel will have to actually talk to Dean’s father. He’s played such a large part in Dean’s life and Castiel has wanted to meet a member of Dean’s family for a long time. Of course he never really expected to meet _John_ , given his vendetta against all Hamiaah. It was looking more and more likely that Castiel would meet Sam and Jess, or possibly even Bobby long before he would ever meet their father.

John already plans to torture and likely kill him. Castiel highly doubts that simply _talking_ with him is going to change anything. There are a few things that he wants John to know before he dies. It doesn’t matter that John won’t believe anything he says. As long as it’s _said_ , then Castiel will have at least tried. Dean had said once that _he_ was the only one allowed to kill Castiel – his vain attempt at making sure that Castiel wouldn’t fall into another hamibaghie’s trap. They never said it out loud, but it was an attempt to keep Castiel fighting. Dean never wanted him to just _give up_ again.

It was never a promise between them, but Castiel feels like he’s breaking it if he doesn’t say _something_ now. He swallows around the tightness in his throat at his memories of Dean and lifts his eyes to the small corner of John’s head that he can see over the edge of the seat. “No Hamiaah has the power to control a person’s thoughts. My powers are with the trees and plants. The most I can do to a person’s body is _heal_ them.”

“Shut up.” John practically growls over his shoulder. “You’re not going to play any of your mind tricks on me like you did Dean.”

“Dean made his own choices.” Castiel says quietly, wings shifting against the rope at the sharp edge in the air. This is a dangerous game he’s playing, but he needs John to know this – whether he believes him or not.

“I said _shut up_.”

“I would never hurt him.” The words are somber on his tongue. “I would never make Dean do anything that he didn’t want to do.”

John brings his hand down hard on something again, a loud bang echoing in the tight confines of the vehicle. “Shut _UP_.”

There is one last thing he needs to say. One last thing that John _needs_ to know. Castiel holds his breath before he says it, using the burn in his chest to steel himself. “I love him.”

As the vehicle comes to a screeching stop, the ropes around Castiel dig painfully into his limbs. They must be attached to the seat in some way, keeping him completely pinned. It hurts and Castiel doesn’t doubt that they’re going to bruise. It hurts his stomach quite a lot as he slides forward on the seat only to jerk to a sudden stop.

Complaining doesn’t even occur to him, not that it would do any good. John’s door creaks as it opens and the fresh scent of the outdoors wafts through the vehicle. It’s tainted with the tang of fuel, but the air is still fresh and Castiel breathes it deeply, listening as John bangs around outside the vehicle. Judging from the vibrations as he slams things, it feels – and sounds – like he’s doing something _behind_ Castiel now. He must be doing something in the trunk of this vehicle. Dean has quite a lot of things in the back hatch of his car.

The door by his head opens suddenly, surprising him. Castiel twists, trying to look up and see what’s going on. John leans into the space above him and it’s the first look Castiel gets of his face. He’s unshaven, but Castiel can see Dean in him. There’s rage and fear and worry in the lines of his face, hiding what would be a handsome man.

John is holding a rectangular strip of something Castiel can’t identify. It’s white on one side and black on the other. Before he can say anything, John presses it down over his mouth. The white side is surprisingly sticky and it stays in place over Castiel’s mouth and cheeks. He tries working his jaw to open his mouth, but the sticky substance has his lips held in place and trying to move them only pulls at the stickiness and it hurts.

“You’re not twisting my head like you did his.” He presses down over Castiel’s mouth again, making sure that the sticky-strip is in place. “You’re not speaking again until we get to where we’re going. And then all you’re gonna tell me is what I want to know.”

The door slams and the entire vehicle rocks as John gets back into his seat and shuts his own door. “When I’m done with you, I’m taking you to a special place. After what you did to my boy, death isn’t good enough for you.”

Castiel closes his eyes and shuffles back onto his belly. His left arm tingles as blood rushes back to it, deprived for too long while he was laying on his side. It would be nice if that could distract him from the heavy thoughts cluttering his head and weighing down his heart. The pain in his chest isn’t even for himself. All Castiel can think about now is _Dean_.

How badly is this going to hurt him? Dean already carries so many scars from John. He craves his father’s approval and he was falsely given his acceptance, leading to _this_. Castiel can’t even imagine how much Dean will blame himself for this. If John does, eventually, kill him – regardless of his previous threat – how will that affect Dean? It will rip his family apart even more and Castiel doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be the catalyst for that end.

Dean deserves better than this from his _father_.

He barely even notices the roar of the vehicle as it starts to move again. A small voice in the back of Castiel’s head, beneath all his worrying, whispers a truth that turns his insides cold and has tears prick at the back of his eyes. At least now Dean isn’t going to have to worry about eventually having to make the choice between living the rest of Castiel’s life with him, or whether he’d rather end their relationship instead of forcing Castiel to watch him grow old and die. He knows that’s something Dean would never make him do.

This is an unforeseen and unwelcome solution to that problem.

John doesn’t say anything further and Castiel is thankful for it. Whatever he might say would only make it harder for him to clear his mind. He’s going to need to harden himself for what is to come. Castiel can’t say anything to betray the clan or the secrets of the Hamiaah. It’s going to be hard. Dean has made it clear that John does not take a Hamiaah’s silence well.

Knowing all this doesn’t make Castiel scared, it makes him _sad_. Not for himself, but for Dean – and to a lesser extent, for John. Castiel had heard it in his voice and seen it in his face. He’s a father looking out for his son. He’s _wrong_ , but he’s only doing what comes naturally to him. As much as he would like to, Castiel can’t fault him for that. If only John would _listen_ and _see_ how much this is going to hurt Dean. In trying to save his son, he might very well destroy the few connections he has left with him.

And _Dean_. The pinching ache in Castiel’s heart only gets worse while thinking of him. He didn’t get to say goodbye to Dean, or Silvanus, or Balthazar. How is Dean going to break it to the clan? Will they forgive him for this? Will they try to hurt him? Thinking about it just makes Castiel sick – sick enough that he mistakes the tightening feeling in his chest as the constricting pain of loss instead of what it really is.

Only when that feeling swells to fill his head and chest does he recognize it. His bond with Silvanus is trembling with fury and fear. That want for hope is satisfied and Castiel nearly chokes on it, straining against his bonds to try and see out the windows. He can feel him near, but he doesn’t know _where_ Silvanus is – or even where _he_ is. They could be hours and hours away from his home by now.

Castiel pulls at the connection he shares with Silvanus. It’s not that he wants to give him guidance to find him – he can only imagine the damage that Silvanus would do to this vehicle and to John. He drags at the connection and fills it with his goodbyes. Silvanus answers with a blaze of anger and a roar echoes over the thrumming vibrations of the vehicle under his cheek.

John curses and Castiel pitches toward the door at his feet as the vehicle swerves on the road. “What the _fuck_ was that?”

If the adhesive strip wasn’t over his mouth, Castiel would answer him.

“You got something to do with this?” He twists in his seat to look over his shoulder at Castiel, eyes wide with fear as he glances around at all the windows. “What the hell was that noise?”

Another roar drowns out the engine, closer this time. John whips around in his seat to look forward again and mutters a string of swears under his breath. “I knew Angels can’t be trusted. You make goddamn _monsters_.” The rumble of the engine increases, whining louder through the vehicle. “Let’s see how a walking tree stands up to three tons of metal.”

No! Castiel struggles against the ropes, twisting his wrists until they burn. He pours warning into the connection with Silvanus, trying to get him to listen. If he’s in the way, he needs to _move_. His body is only wood. It’ll crumble and crack under the impact and Castiel can’t fix it if he isn’t connected to Caosgi by hand or foot to actually spread his powers to Silvanus.

He’s pitched forward again as the vehicle comes to yet another screeching stop, turning as it does. Castiel’s head presses uncomfortably against the door and his groan of pain is muffled by the sticky strip. Why did they stop? What did Silvanus do that made John stop?

“What the hell…?” John breathes. He sounds surprised, but not like when he first saw Silvanus. This is a whole different kind of disbelief. The hope that expands in Castiel’s chest at his next words is nearly suffocating. “Is that… _Dean_?”


	47. A New Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **I will not have you taken from me like First Qaal.** Silvanus snarls and the air whistles as he lashes his tail like a whip. **I will not let that happen again.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

No matter how many times he’s done it over the last year, Dean will _never_ get used to riding Silvanus. Usually he’ll make any and all excuses to _not_ ride him. He’s walked hoursjust to avoid it because every single time Silvanus makes some kind of excuse to do fancy bounces that make Dean feel like he’s going to swallow his teeth.

He _hates_ riding Silvanus, but right now that’s the last thing on his mind. John has Cas. That’s the only thing that matters right now. His _dad_ has _Cas_ and Dean has absolutely _no_ idea how badly Cas might be hurt. There hadn’t been any blood but that doesn’t mean Cas didn’t have anything broken. His wings could be busted again, or John might have broken one (or both) of his legs, maybe even an arm.

Shit, thinking about Cas being hurt even _slightly_ sends something dark and sick spreading through Dean’s chest. It burns at the back of his throat and chokes him. He tightens his hands in the vines of Silvanus’s neck and tucks himself low against his back, doing his best to make himself as small as possible to minimize the risk of getting whipped in the face by a passing branch. The branches coming out of the Silvanus’s head keep most of them away, but Dean isn’t taking any chances. He can’t have started after Cas like this only to get knocked off Silvanus’s back before they even get to him.

As scared as he is for Cas, Dean is almost more terrified of what he’s going to do if John actually hurt him. His gun is a cold, ominous weight in the small of his back. He doesn’t actually _plan_ to use it as anything more than a threat, but the magazines in his pockets are like rocks weighing him down. They’re a safety net – in case John really has gone off the deep end. Dean _really_ hopes that’s not the case and that he doesn’t have to use anything he’s carrying on him.

By the time Silvanus hits the main road, Dean’s hands have gone numb from how hard he’s holding onto him. His thighs are aching from squeezing tight enough to stay in place. It’s going to take a while to catch up, but Dean is going to hold on for as long as it takes. This is for Cas and Dean would do just about anything for him.

Silvanus is faster than Dean expected when he’s going full tilt. He doesn’t even need to be reminded to go around the town instead of going _through_ it. The last thing they need to do is scare the bejesus out of everyone. It doesn’t matter if they already know that there’s a _mountain spirit_ around since Cas insists on sneaking down to the farm lands to make sure their crops are doing well. He’s nice that way – even if Dean thinks it’s pretty fucking risky.

It doesn’t hit him how far John and Cas got until he and Silvanus are past the town and back on the empty road. Guilt starts to eat away at Dean and he shoves back against it. There’s no time for that now. He can freak out about how badly he let Cas down _later_ – after Cas is safe and sound. It’s pushing two hours since Cas wrote that note and Dean doesn’t have a damn clue exactly what that means for how long he’s been with John. As far as anyone is concerned, any amount of time with him is too long.

A loud growl shakes through the vines under his hands and Dean sits up to look over Silvanus’s head. There’s a truck motoring up the bottom of the hill ahead of them and he recognizes the black frame as the same truck from Bobby’s yard and the parking lot at the restaurant. It’s John’s alright. Holy _shit_ , Silvanus is fast. Dean is actually almost proud of him.

“That’s him!” Dean shouts into the wind. It stings his eyes and he ducks back down again. “Get off the road before he sees us!”

Tree branches start cracking around him again as Silvanus veers back into the forest. He’s leaping over fallen trees and about fit to buck Dean right off his back. If it wasn’t for their current situation, Dean would think that he’s doing it on purpose. John’s gotta be going sixty miles an hour and Silvanus _still_ catches up, ripping through the trees in line with him.

It’s too hard to tell, but Dean thinkshe sees black feathers in the backseat. He leans forward and hopes to hell that Silvanus can hear him. “Don’t ram the truck! Cas is in the back seat. Try cutting them off!”

Dean must get through because Silvanus snorts, tilts his head back and honest-to-God _roars_. It shakes Dean down to his bones, and he loses the ability to breathe for a moment. Silvanus manages to pull ahead when  the truck swerves on the road and if Dean wasn’t on the verge of possible patricide, he’d be amused that a simple roar was able to shake John enough for his driving to suffer for it.

Silvanus breaks out of the forest with a leap and another bone-quaking roar, skidding to a stop on the road a good distance ahead of the truck. He’s trembling under Dean as he turns to face the truck, body wound tight and ready to pounce. There’s growl in Dean’s ears but it isn’t coming from Silvanus. It takes him a minute to realize that it’s the engine of the truck revving up. Holy fuck, is John is going to try and _ram them_?

Maybe he hasn’t seen Dean yet? Would that even be something that would get him to stop? Dean doesn’t have a damn clue, but it’s worth a shot. Who knows how badly Silvanus is going to total the truck and that’s his _dad_ in there – _and Cas_. Dean sits up straight and makes sure he’s got a damn good view of the truck – which means John has just as good a view of him.

Dean breathes a little sigh of relief when the brakes squeal and the truck turns while it skids to a stop not far from them. The fact that John isn’t willing to run into a beast like Silvanus because Dean is on his back is actually a hopeful sign. But catching up to them was the easy part of all of this. Here comes the tricky part and Dean is on the verge of pissing his pants about having to do it.

He grabs the gun out of the back of his pants and swings one leg over Silvanus’s back. Dean can see John through the driver’s side window and he points the gun at him as he drops to the ground. John’s holding the steering wheel with both hands and he honestly looks like he’s surprised to see Dean there. Good, he should be.

“Turn off the engine and get out of the truck, dad!” Dean shouts, taking a few steps forward. He doesn’t take his eyes off John, but he turns his head to speak over his shoulder to Silvanus. “Stay right there. Don’t do anything unless I tell you to.”

Silvanus growls is enough of an answer. As long as he stays put and doesn’t try to rip John in half, Dean’s happy. Though he doesn’t doubt that  Silvanus isn’t going to hold still if Cas is hurt badly, or worse – _no_. Dean isn’t going to think like that. Not yet. He needs to keep hoping that John wouldn’t have done that. Not to _Cas_. Not yet.

The engine cuts out and John is giving him a narrow eyed stare through the window. It’s a calculating look that Dean’s seen a million times, and it does _not_ bode well.

He gestures with his gun. “Keep your hands where I can see them and get out of the truck. You have to the count of three or I’m letting Silvanus tear it apart.”

John hesitates, but he does listen and the door swings open. Dean’s expecting some kind of weapon in his hands, but there’s nothing. He’s holding them at his shoulders and the keys are hanging from his fingers. Without being asked, he tosses the keys at Dean’s feet. If John thinks that’s going to distract Dean long enough to take his eyes off him, then he’s got another thing coming. Dean doesn’t even look down. He felt them hit the toe of his boot and he swipes his foot over the keys, kicking them back toward Silvanus.

“Put your gun down, Dean.”

He uses the same tone of command that Dean’s been conditioned to listen to his whole life. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t listen immediately.

“Step away from the truck, dad.” Dean’s pretty proud of himself that his voice doesn’t waver. “Don’t even try going for a gun. It’s not going to do any good against Silvanus and he’ll tear your arm off before you manage to hurt anyone.”

“You’re aiming a _gun_ at me.” John says slowly.

He keeps using that _voice_ and Dean tightens his grip, his finger twitching against the slide. Gun handling 101 – you _never_ put your finger on the trigger unless you’re actually going to shoot it. Dean doesn’t want to, but he knows plenty of places to shoot to incapacitate.

Swallowing, Dean takes another step forward. “Let Cas go.”

“You’re not thinking right, Dean.” His eyes narrow again and he glances at the back seat of the truck. “I never should’ve let you go on that hunt alone. You weren’t ready to go solo and look what happened.”

Dean grits his teeth, not liking the way John’s fingers are twitching. Silvanus growls behind him, a perfect reminder that there is indeed a possibly-prehistoric tree-beast standing not more than ten feet away and he is _not_ a happy bunny.

“I’m a lot nicer than Silvanus is, dad. Step away from the truck.”

“He’s used his magic to warp your head.” John says, eyes getting wide and wild while he keeps staring at the back seat. “Once he’s gone, you’ll be normal again.”

His insides go cold and something tight constricts around Dean’s ribs. He can barely even hear Silvanus’s warning growl over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. John thinks Cas is messing with his head? Where the hell did he even come up with that? No. Now isn’t the time to think about the _why_. He needs to get John away from Cas, get Cas free and out of here, and then he’s going to deal with his dad. Somehow he’s going to have to find a way to fix all of this.

“You’re not going to hurt Cas.” That’s the important thing to keep stressing here. “Get away from the truck. I’m not going to say it again.”

John finally looks back to him and there’s almost a desperate kind of edge to him. It’s one Dean’s not sure if he’s seen on his dad since the he was four years old. “Listen to me, Dean. You don’t like men and you don’t like Angels. They _killed_ Mary.” He takes a step forward, his hands still held up. “There’s no way you’d shack up with one of them if you were right in the head. Put your gun down and let me make things right again. Once I get rid of –”

“ _No_.” Dean hisses as something hot and fierce trips through his chest. He cocks the hammer and subtly takes aim for John’s shoulder. “You try to do _anything_ to Cas again and Silvanus will rip you apart, whether I tell him to or not. If Cas is hurt, I might just let him.”

“See?” John drops his hands and gestures violently at Dean. “That’s just more proof that the Angel messed you up! Come hunting with me again. We’ll set things right when we put down this Angel.”

He needs to stop saying that or Dean’s finger might just slip. Dean can’t even see straight at just the mention of his dad _killing_ Cas. It’s like red is creeping in on the edges of his vision and Dean is honestly scared that he might hurt John if he keeps making threats like that. They’re just _threats_ right now, but he’s never known John not to follow through on one.

Dean takes another few steps, slowly circling around John. He wants to put himself between his dad and the truck (and Cas) and put John closer to Silvanus. He’ll be less likely to do anything when there’s a mouthful of jagged wooden teeth close enough to bite him in half.

“ _Hamiaah_. They’re called Hamiaah.” It’s a piss poor distraction technique, but Dean needs something to keep John from actually attempting to take Cas down. “Cas did _nothing_ to me and _nothing_ to you. I told you he’s the best guy I know, and I meant it.”

Once he’s standing by the back door, Dean twitches the gun in a small gestures. “Silvanus, keep an eye on him. If he reaches for a gun, eat him.”

“ _Dean_.” John sounds shocked, but maybe that white lie of a threat will actually make him see that Dean is serious about the _‘no hurting Cas’_ rule.

Silvanus growls and parks himself right next to John, literally snarling at his shoulder and fixing him with a glare that even Dean hasn’t ever been on the receiving end of before. If he so much as twitches wrong, Dean wouldn’t be surprised if Silvanus actually sits on him. As long as he doesn’t actually kill him, Dean’s happy. He’d be happier if they all got out of this without any bloodshed. That’s the best possible ending here, really.

Once he’s sure that John isn’t going to try anything and that Silvanus has everything under control, Dean uncocks the gun and tucks it back into his pants. He pulls the back door open and immediately looks down, hoping for consciousness – let alone _actual life_. Something in his chest goes all loose and loopy when he sees Cas twisted onto his side and staring up at him like he’s just seen God. There are tears in Cas’s eyes and if Dean wasn’t still living on the edge, he’d probably want to have a relieved cry too.

Shit, how scared must Cas have been? He had no guarantee that Silvanus _or_ Dean was going to come waltzing in at any moment. Maybe he’d resigned himself to death already, like he’d done when Dean caught him. That makes his stomach flip and Dean stomps down on that feeling. Right now he has other things to focus on – like untying Cas and getting a rundown of his injuries. Frankly, that better be _zero_.

Just from where he’s standing, Dean can see all sorts of bruises and scratches on the front of Cas’s legs. John must have tied him up at the clearing and half-carried, half-dragged him on his front so his wings wouldn’t catch in anything and slow them down. Aside from all that, the only thing that Dean can actually _see_ is a bruise on Cas’s temple. The skin is split, but it doesn’t look like he bled much. The duct tape is going to be a bitch to get off.

“Oh _Jesus_.” Dean bites his lip to keep from saying anything else and grabs the knife from his belt, flipping the blade out. The whole time he cuts him free, apologies keep managing to force their way out of him. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m _sorry_.”

The first to go are the ropes holding Cas to the seat. Dean goes for the ones over his wings next and Cas makes a muffled sound of relief in his throat. His eyes slide closed and he turns onto his stomach, wings flexing out until they bump the ceiling. Good, that means they’re not broken. Cas makes the same relieved noise when Dean cuts his arms free and they drop to the seat.

“C’mon, Cas. Y’gotta get up.” Dean closes the knife and tucks it away in his pocket before he grabs Cas under the shoulders to pull him up. “We’ll get you on your feet and I’ll cut the rope then.”

As soon as Cas is upright, he wraps his arms around Dean’s shoulders and digs his fingers into his back. He presses his face into Dean’s neck and lets out a fucking _massive_ sigh. Cas holds on to him while Dean takes a few steps back, pulling him out of the truck until his feet hit the ground. Once Cas is steady, Dean crouches to cut the ropes around his ankles. He can’t stop touching him as he stands up, running his hand lightly over Cas’s legs, hips, sides, arms and shoulders, just to make sure that absolutely nothing is broken.

“You okay?” He stops with his hands cupping Cas’s face. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Cas shakes his head and touches the duct tape, a frown pinching between his eyebrows. Dean pulls Cas’s hand away and picks at the corner of the tape until it comes away from his skin just a little. Out of sympathy, Dean winces. “This is going to hurt, sorry.”

Before Cas can raise an eyebrow, Dean rips it off. It’s pretty impressive that Cas’s only reaction to the pain of having duct tape pull out half his stubble is to widen his eyes and flare his wings a little. They’re heavy behind him, hanging lower than Cas usually holds them, and the feathers are all clumped together with the oil. A vicious _hate_ tears through Dean’s chest at seeing them like that and knowing it was his stupid invention that did it – _again_.

“Dean.” Cas says his name like a fucking benediction and the angry riot in his chest melts under it. His knees almost give out at the flood of relief. “I’m fine, Dean. Everything is okay.”

“No, it’s not.” That angry burn comes back with a vengeance and Dean’s hands curl into fists. “Dad _hurt_ you. He –”

Cas shakes his head again and glances over to where John and Silvanus are standing. “He didn’t hurt me. I believe he did all this because he was worried about you.”

“Stop warping his –” John takes a step forward, stopping only because Silvanus snarls and his tail whips around in front of him.

Dean nearly makes the same sound and he turns to face him too. “Cas isn’t doing _shit_ to my brain. He’s the best thing to happen to me in a long time.” The closed knife digs into his palm and Dean doesn’t care how about how much it hurts. “He’s not doing anything to me I don’t want him to do and he sure as hell isn’t _messing_ with my goddamn brain.” He takes a few steps until Cas stops him with a hand on his shoulder, but that doesn’t stop Dean’s mouth. “The only person who’s ever done that is _you_.”

“I _never_ –” John starts, but Dean cuts him off again.

He jerks his shoulder out of Cas’s warning grip. “You raised me to believe that Angels are _monsters_ , but you never even got to _know_ one. All you’re doing is _assuming_ that mom was killed by them because of rumour and superstition and just the _mention_ that they were seen nearby.”

Silvanus starts growling the closer Dean gets to John. His mouth is running off without his brain again and Dean is happy to let it go. This is shit he’s had on his chest forever and attacking Cas was the absolute _last_ straw. “There are _worse_ things out there – things that actually _hurt_ people. We’re never going to find who caused that storm and all you’ve ever done is _obsess_ about it.”

John’s whole expression goes hard. “Don’t talk to me like that! I’m your father and you’re going to do –”

“I’m not a _kid_ anymore!” Dean is on the verge of shouting. It feels like his whole face is going red and his chest hurts like if Silvanus was sitting on it. “I’m _twenty-seven_ years old. You can’t shove me around anymore and you get _no say_ in how I choose to live my life.”

He keeps enough of his senses around to stay out of John’s reach, but Dean’s practically vibrating with how angry he is right now. “You think Cas is the bad guy here? He can _grow_ and _control_ the trees. Thing about that, why don’t you. You got him in _his_ element and he didn’t fight back. Does that sound like a monster to you?”

“Then explain why you changed?” John hisses, his hands in fists too and shaking at his sides. “The son I let go on his first solo hated Angels and he sure as hell wasn’t a goddamn _homo_.”

“What _happened_ is that I finally became my own person.” Dean takes a deep breath, trying to fight the urge to lash out and actually punch his own _dad_. Just in case, he puts the knife back in the holster on his belt again. “I’m not your little soldier anymore. I can think for myself and you’re just going to have to accept that.”

What Dean is having trouble accepting right now is how John could be so fucking stupid. How can he even think that Dean isn’t in his right mind? What brought that on? The fact that he even thought he could do _anything_ to Cas and get away with it is mind boggling at best. Well fuck, this probably means that they’re going to have to sit down and actually _talk_ about this once Dean gets Cas out of here.

He hasn’t even started thinking about how hard it’s gonna be on Cas now. John knows where to find him. What’s going to stop him from telling other hunters? Or from coming back? This just caused a whole _hell_ of a lot of problems and Dean doesn’t know how to deal with any of it.

John closes the distance, getting up in Dean’s face. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and Dean’s patience hits a new limit. Before he knows it, Dean has his hands fisted in his dad’s shirt and he’s got him pressed up against Silvanus’s side. Dean has had _enough_. It’s his dad – his own fucking _father_ – who threatened Cas.

It was John who trapped Cas and tied him up like a goddamn _animal_. That sends something hot, angry, and altogether terrifying running through Dean. This isn’t something that he can stand for. He needs to say something – _do something_ – that’s going to get it through John’s thick head that he can’t do this to Cas _ever_ again.

x

Castiel knows he should intervene. Dean is speaking out of anger and it’s only going to further fracture the rift forming between him and his father. He should move and stop him, but he doesn’t want to get any closer to John Winchester than he as to at the moment. Just because he understands _why_ John has done all this doesn’t mean that he isn’t wary of the man.

It doesn’t help that Castiel is also still very stunned. He can hardly believe that Dean is here _and_ with Silvanus. The fact that they’re actually working together and Silvanus is _listening_ to Dean is surprising enough in its own regard. They reacted so quickly and Castiel is still having trouble grasping that they’re both actually here to help him.

Dean pulls John away from Silvanus and all but throws him back toward the vehicle. They need only share a look for Castiel to understand Dean’s silent request. He feels surprisingly steady on his feet as he walks around them without staggering. Silvanus rumbles a pleased purr as Castiel reaches his side, happiness tripping through their bond. Castiel returns it in kind, but his attention is focused on Dean and John. He’s trying to catch what they’re saying to one another in hushed whispers that sound little more than angry growls as Dean shoves his father against the side of the vehicle, his hands still fisted in the front of his shirt.

Silvanus nudges his side with his snout. **You are uninjured, Qaal?**

“I’m fine.” He touches him between the eyes absently, angling his body and wings away so they don’t run the risk of getting any of the oil from his feathers onto Silvanus. “Everything you see is merely superficial. I’ll heal soon.”

 **I should end him for this.** Another low growl trembles from between his teeth. **I should end them both. This wouldn’t have happened if your Human wasn’t around, Qaal.**

“If it wasn’t Dean and his father, it would’ve been another hamibaghie.” Castiel shakes his head and pushes down against Silvanus’s head. “It’s not Dean’s fault that this happened. His father was bound to learn about me at some point.”

 **I will not have you taken from me like First Qaal.** Silvanus snarls and the air whistles as he lashes his tail like a whip. **I will not let that happen again.**

“Neither will I – or Dean.” He murmurs, not taking his eyes from the pair by the car. “We won’t have you go through that again, I promise.”

A loud snort marks Silvanus’s surprise. **Your Human knows of First Qaal?**

“I haven’t had the occasion to tell him of our past lives yet.” Castiel ducks his head, looking at the hard road beneath his feet. He doesn’t like the feel of it and briefly wonders if anyone would object if he went and waited amidst the trees. “I will tell him when the time is ri–”

“I wasn’t going to _kill_ him!” John’s outburst draws Castiel’s eyes back to the vehicle again.

“Then what were you gonna do, huh?Torture him and let him go?” Dean sneers, taking a step back. “Don’t lie to me, dad. What were you going to do to Cas?”

He kicks a gun and a knife under the vehicle, both of which had not previously been on the ground and Castiel realizes they must be what John was carrying. He knows what Dean’s preferred gun looks like and that most certainly is not it. Looking back to them again, Castiel takes in the tense trembling of Dean’s arms. He looks to be only moments away from actually hitting his father. John is no different, his fists shaking minutely at his sides.

“Sell him.” John spits, a sardonic smile twisting the corner of one mouth as he glances towards Castiel. “There’s a good trade for exotic pets.”

Even Castiel flinches when Dean’s slams his fist into the side of the vehicle, bare inches from John’s head. He wonders if the glass would have broken had Dean hit it instead of the metal frame. Castiel hopes that Dean didn’t hurt his hand too badly – though he’ll gladly heal it for him if he did. John looks surprised, braced for a hit and not expecting it to have missed. Maybe Dean can’t bring himself to hit him. He certainly _looks_ like he wouldn’t mind it. Or maybe Castiel isn’t giving Dean enough credit.

Pride flares brightly in his chest when he realizes what Dean is doing, a few red amaryllis blooming among the branches and leaves growing from the top of Silvanus’s head. This should be proof enough to John that he isn’t controlling Dean. He thinks Castiel is controlling Dean out of revenge. If that were the case, wouldn’t he be using Dean now to hurt John? They’re fighting him without fighting him and Castiel almost smiles. Showing any sort of joy at the current situation might only serve to aggravate John more.

Dean takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm himself. He shoves John back against the side of the vehicle once more before he lets go of his shirt and steps away. “I’m only going to say this once so listen and listen good.”

Castiel’s wings twitch and lift in surprise as Dean turns towards him. Silvanus tenses behind him, a low growl vibrating through the vines of his throat. Dean crosses the distance between them and takes his place at Castiel’s side. He doesn’t hesitate to catch Castiel’s hand in his, linking their fingers together as he squeezes it tightly.

If his wings weren’t covered in oil, Castiel would fold one around Dean’s shoulder right now. It’s only his focus that keeps additional flowers from growing on Silvanus and along the side of the road. He is proud of Dean for standing up to his father. It must be hard for him, considering how much he revered him. Though perhaps Dean’s anger is making it easier to deal with.

John hasn’t moved, still leaning against the side of the vehicle. He’s staring at them with narrowed eyes and Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand reassuringly. Whatever it is that Dean is going to say, he has Castiel’s support and encouragement.

“Cas –” Dean starts seriously and Castiel glances at him, taking in the hard edge to his jaw. He isn’t taking his eyes off his father. “Cas is my Mary.”

Those four words hit Castiel hard in his chest. He didn’t know what to expect Dean to say, but that is extremely surprising. He knows Dean cares for him, but to say _that_ and to _John_ of all people is – Castiel fights the intense urge to wrap his wings around Dean and kiss him soundly. Instead, he looks to John to see how _he_ takes this statement.

To his credit, John doesn’t look nearly as surprised as Castiel feels. He has gone a little pale and he’s staring at them with wide eyes. John doesn’t say anything and Dean swallows thickly, squeezing Castiel’s fingers a fraction tighter. The silence stretches an exceptionally long time – long enough for Castiel to start to worry.

Sighing, Dean digs his free hand into one of his pockets and pulls out his own satellite phone. “I’m calling Bobby and he’s going to come and get you.” He glances up from the phone when John continues to say nothing. “We’re going to sit on the side of the road until he gets here and then Bobby’s going to take you home with him where you’re going to _stay_ until we figure out what to do with you.”

The way John is staring at Dean is different now. If Castiel didn’t know any better, he would say that it almost looks like this is the first time that John has seen him. Maybe he’s finally seeing Dean as he truly is, rather than just the obedient son he had left behind more than a year previous.

“Cas, how’re you holding up?” Dean turns to him while putting the phone to his ear.

“I told you, I’m fine.” He gives Dean a reassuring smile before glancing along the road. “It would perhaps be better if Silvanus and I take shelter in the trees before another vehicle comes along.”

“Sounds like a plan – Hey Bobby? Yeah, call off the witch hunt, I’ve got ‘em.” As he starts explaining to Bobby what he needs done, they both look back to John.

He hasn’t moved yet, but his eyes are now focused on the road between his feet. Castiel isn’t sure if the contemplative expression on his face is encouraging or not. For all they know, he could be trying to think of a way to handle this situation that ends with Castiel dead and Dean free of the fictitious mind control.

“Okay, yeah. That’s the plan. Just drive along the highway until you see dad’s truck.” Dean crouches to pick up the keys Silvanus has been standing over. “I’m going to move the truck off the road. Oh, don’t forget to bring some dish soap. Yeah, for Cas’s wings. Thanks, Bobby.”

Once the phone is back in his pocket, Dean turns to Silvanus. “Watch my dad. If he does anything suspicious, sit on him. Dad!” John looks up sharply. “You’re gonna sit with Silvanus for a bit while I move the truck. Got that?”

A dark frown twists his face, but John nods and leaves the truck. Silvanus snorts, following him to the edge of the road and into the trees. Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder lightly, a reassuring and gentle thing meant to remind him that everything is alright. He is a soldier and this isn’t the first time he’s been in a fight – though there was little fighting. This will bother him no more than when it was Dean himself who caught him.

Dean gives him a small, weak smile. “You can wait with Silvanus if you want. I’m just going to be a minute getting the truck off the road. Bobby’s bringing a tow truck to take it and dad back to his place.”

He heads to the vehicle and Castiel waits until Dean has moved it onto the dirt side of the road. Castiel collects the gun and knife and Dean tucks them under the driver’s seat before they join Silvanus and John in the forest, out of sight of the road. John is sitting between the roots of a tree with Silvanus directly in front of him, his bright eyes fixed on him.

Castiel chooses to sit away from him. He doesn’t want to do anything that might upset John at this point. He finds a rock to sit on, the only place where he’ll be able to keep his wings from brushing against the trees. It’s set away from Silvanus and John, but it’s better that way. Silvanus is calmer the farther Castiel is from the hamibaghie who took him away. Dean, however, can’t seem to decide where to stand. He paces restlessly back and forth, staying close to Castiel but often taking several steps towards John before he turns away again.

“Sit and rest, Dean. We have nothing to do but wait now.” Castiel pats the part of the rock next to him.

He shakes his head, but he does stop walking if only to squint between the trees at John. “You should go back to the lake and wash that shit out of your wings.”

“Would soap root work the same as what you used before?”

Dean shrugs and starts pacing again, this time only doing it back and forth in front of Castiel. “Dunno. Maybe. You could try. Would Silvanus be able to help you?”

“I don’t want him to touch the oil. I would take care of them myself.” He stands to put himself in Dean’s path, stopping him. “We can deal with my wings afterward, Dean. For now, you should calm down.”

“I am calm.”

“You’re like a tiger in a cage.” Castiel takes Dean’s hands, squeezing his fingers. “You need to speak with your father again and you can’t do that while you’re like this. He knows the truth now. There are no more secrets. Talk to him about everything that you couldn’t before.”

“He knows where you _live_.” Dean whispers. He pulls his hands from Castiel’s only to wrap them around his shoulders and pull him close enough to bury his face against his neck. “What are we going to do? I don’t want you to have to move to stay safe.”

His arms find their way around Dean’s waist and it takes a great amount of willpower to keep from folding his wings around him too. “It’s fine, Dean. The forest knows the feel of him now. He won’t get another chance like that again. If I ask, I’m sure the forest will warn me of any person who enters my territory – whether they be hamibaghie, hunter, or camper.”

Dean sighs, a soft noise of acceptance that ripples across Castiel’s skin. “It spoke to me, y’know. I didn’t really understand it, but I knew something was wrong.”

Castiel’s wings spread in surprise. Only a mirlonsa, like him, can commune with the true voice of the forest – to hear and speak with it like an old friend. But the forest can talk to whomever it wants, though it seldom speaks to Humans. They’re so disconnected from Caosgi that they can rarely hear its voice. That Dean could feel it is both pleasing and amazing.

“Nothing is wrong anymore. I’m fine and now you can talk to you father freely.” He spreads his fingers wide over the small of Dean’s back. “I’m sure everything will be alright.” Dean doesn’t need to know that he only half believes his words.

Sighing again, Dean leans back until he can look Castiel in the eye. He doesn’t look very hopeful either, but his small smile is back in place. “Bobby probably won’t get here until tomorrow morning. There’s camping stuff in the truck, but you can’t leave that crap in your wings all night.”

“This is the second time you’ve told me to go.”

“I don’t want dad near you.” He mumbles, glancing toward John and Silvanus. “I’m going to – I’ve gotta talk to him. Try and make him see straight. I figure if you don’t show any interest in him, he’ll get it through his head that Hamiaah aren’t what he thinks they are – especially if you take the Jolly Green Giant with you instead of letting him tear into him.”

Castiel rolls his eyes at yet another nickname for Silvanus. “He wouldn’t do that.”

 **I would.** Silvanus’s rumbling voice echoes over the space between them. _He_ can hear them, but Castiel is fairly certain they’re too far and talking to quietly for John to catch their words.

“Are you sure you want me to go?” He asks softly.

This is something between Dean and his father. It’s something private that they’re going to need time to discuss. Castiel’s only objection is the same as Dean’s – he doesn’t want to leave them alone together. What if it’s only his presence and Silvanus’s that keeps John from acting out? If they leave, will he turn against Dean? Will they fight? Are these things that Dean has already thought about? All of this must be so hard on him and Castiel shouldn’t make things more difficult by not giving them the space they need for this talk.

“I don’t _want_ you to go.” Dean sighs, leaning into Castiel again. “But I _need_ to talk to him and it’ll be easier if you’re not here.”

“I know.” Castiel squeezes him tightly. “As soon as the forest says that he’s gone, I’ll send Silvanus to come bring you home.”

He can feel a warm smile spread against his neck. Dean steals a look toward John once more before he lifts his head and kisses Castiel once – quick and sweet. His voice drops to a whisper as he leans their foreheads together briefly. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Heat trips through Castiel’s chest and his wings twitch forward, curving around him with the desire to fold Dean safely in them. He forces them to fold against his back and lifts his chin to kiss Dean again. It’s a nervous ache that fills the space behind his ribs when they pull apart, Dean taking Silvanus’s place in front of John.

 **Do not worry about the oil, Qaal.** Silvanus looks over his shoulder when Castiel hesitates to climb onto his back. **I can bathe with you when we reach the lake.**

“Stop at the clearing. I want to get my bag and the soap root I dropped when I was hit by the net.” Castiel keeps his wings folded tightly, hoping the ride won’t cause too much oil to drip from his feathers.

Castiel ooks back at Dean and John one last time before Silvanus leaves them behind, bounding through the trees with the sure focus of someone who knows exactly where he’s going. The run back to familiar scenery is longer than he expected. John took him farther than Castiel has been in fifty years. After his initial exploration of the lands around his home, Castiel rarely wandered from the common paths around his home, unless the forest asked him to. It was simpler that way and he had less of a chance of accidentally running into any Humans.

By the time they reach the lake, it is dragging into the later hours of the afternoon. The soap root doesn’t have the same effect as the bottled liquid soap that Dean had used before. Even with his broken wing it had been easier to have Dean clean them then to sit in the shallow waters and hold his wings forward, raking his fingers through the feathers.

Castiel works for hours to clean his wings, stopping often to purify the water around him. Silvanus sits with him, watching and helping by lending him strength when the purifying taxes him. As the sun dips beneath the trees, Castiel gives up. He’s exhausted mentally and physically and he aches in more places than he cares to think about.

Using the blanket from his bag, Castiel dries off before he gets comfortable against Silvanus’s side. The forest hasn’t warned him about any problems between Dean and his father. It’s been very difficult not to touch the nearest tree and commune with Coasgi to try and spy on their conversation. He wouldn’t be able to hear their words, but the forest would understand them.

Despite all his worries, Castiel doesn’t take very long to fall asleep. Even more surprising is that he sleeps soundly until gentle hands wake him, combing lightly through his hair. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that it’s Dean. With Silvanus watching over him, no one else would be able to get near enough for this. Yawning, Castiel sits up and rubs his eyes with his knuckles.

“Hey, sleepy-head.” Dean murmurs softly. “How you feeling?”

“I’m fine.” Castiel looks up at Dean and takes in his tired eyes and weary smile. His bottom lip is split in the corner and there’s bruising on his knuckles. “You fought?”

He shrugs. “Dad took a swing first. It was my fault for letting him have a beer from the truck to _‘calm his nerves’_. And I might of accidentally purposefully goaded him into it. But we’re Winchesters, we talk better with our fists than our words.”

“Did you sleep at all?” He touches Dean’s cheek gently, summoning his recovered odlonshin and pulsing it through his fingertips to heal him.

Dean sighs and shakes his head after Castiel is done, murmuring a thank you. “I wasn’t going to risk dad taking off while I was napping. We talked a lot and that’s what matters, right?” He runs a hand through his hair and shrugs. “I’m fine for now. C’mon, I’ve got soap and a bucket. Let’s get your wings cleaned.”

The sun is already peeking over the mountains to the east. Castiel lets Dean pull him to his feet and guide him out into the cool morning waters. The lake will warm up considerably later in the day, but right now it does wonders at waking them both fully. It feels exquisite to have Dean’s fingers pawing through his feathers again, raking the oil from them better than anything Castiel did yesterday.

They don’t really talk while Dean works. It would just be a distraction right now and the priority is his wings. A conversation can wait. Castiel is patient and he knows that Dean will tell him what he and John talked about later – as long as it’s something he’s actually willing to share. If it turns out Dean wants to keep that a secret, Castiel will be hard pressed not to try and push for more.

Once Dean is satisfied with the state of his wings, Castiel swims out into the small cove and purifies the lake one last time. Silvanus has waited for them patiently on the beach, watching them with an air of boredom – though Castiel can feel how on guard he is through their bond. It’s a very real possibility that Silvanus won’t be leaving for several days, possibly even a few weeks. His enduring protectiveness is one of his best qualities.

Dean has everything collected and he’s ready to go by the time Castiel walks out of the water. Silvanus carries them both back to the salman and Castiel is grateful for it. After purifying the lake so many times over the last day, he’s very tired and would like nothing more than to curl up in his nest with Dean. He’s sure that Dean isn’t much better than him. Yesterday was taxing on all of them.

 **Rest, Qaal.** Silvanus rumbles as he crouches in front of the entrance to let them off his back. **The forest and I will watch over you both.**

“Thank you.” Castiel murmurs, pausing to hug Silvanus’s head as best he can, even folding his still drying wings around him. They spend a moment standing together like that, Dean already having ducked through the vines and into the salman.

He finds Dean standing at the table when Castiel goes inside, his hands planted on its surface and his head hanging forward. Worry blooms tightly in his chest and Castiel leaves his bag on the floor by the entrance, going to Dean’s side without further thought. No sooner does he touch Dean’s shoulder does he find himself crowded against the edge of the table. He’s not even surprised by how easily Dean pushes into his personal space. Castiel’s hands end up on Dean’s arms, curling tightly in the fabric of his shirt while Dean kisses him firmly – a desperate, needy, apologetic crash of lips, teeth and tongue.

There are words behind every breath, mumbled sounds too jumbled for Castiel to discern what they are. He has a feeling that he knows what Dean is saying and without hesitation he folds his wings around him too, cocooning them in the shifting feathers. They’re like a sedative for Dean and he leans most of his weight into Castiel until he’s almost forced to sit on the table to be comfortable.

Dean makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as he breaks away from the kiss to press his face against Castiel’s neck. “I thought I was gonna lose you.” The words are little more than a whisper against his skin. He digs his fingers into Castiel’s hips, pulling him closer, hugging him tighter. “I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so fucking _sorry_. I should’ve been there – I should’ve kept you safe – I should’ve –”

Castiel shushes him. His chest feels tight as white elderflowers blossom along the table. He threads his fingers into Dean’s hair and lifts his head to kiss him soundly, stopping the flow of unnecessary apologies. There’s no point in repeating that he’s alright. Dean will accept it eventually. Right now he’s letting his tough exterior crumble under the weight of the guilt he feels and Castiel is here to hold him through all of it.

It’s a stumbling, ungainly walk from the table to the othil. Not once does Dean let go of him and Castiel barely parts his wings for them to see where they’re going. They trip over their feet and the blanket Dean left on the floor yesterday until they can settle against the stuffed mats. Dean makes himself comfortable straddling Castiel’s lap, refusing to move his cheek from his shoulder. Castiel runs his hands up and down Dean’s back, alternating in the pressure of his fingers until he feels Dean go loose against him, his grip slackening and his breathing turning into the long, steady in-out of sleep.

Carefully, Castiel guides them to lay on their sides. His wings are cramped into the tight space between him and the back of the othil, but he doesn’t mind. He watches Dean sleep curled against his chest, their legs tangled together. After yesterday’s excitement, this return to normalcy is both welcome and somehow feels a little surreal.

Castiel holds Dean until he falls asleep himself.

*

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff.” Dean crinkles his nose at the cup of tea Castiel pours himself. “It’s just hot leaf juice.”

“And the coffee you drink is hot _bean_ juice.” He shrugs and warms his hands around the cup. With his elbows on the table, Castiel looks at Dean over the edge of his mug. “You can stop trying to avoid the conversation. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to. I understand.”

Dean looks down at the empty cup in front of him, already drained of the water it had been holding. “Kinda hard to figure out where to start.”

“Start with the result. How much do I have to worry about your father?” As much as he wants to learn everything, Castiel wants to know this the most.

“He promised not to bother you.” He takes a deep breath and looks up again. “The _Mary_ line really hit home with him. He doesn’t like you, he doesn’t trust you, but he’s not going to bother you as long as we’re, y’know, _us_. At least that’s what he said. Dunno if we can actually trust him on it, though.”

Castiel tilts his head curiously. “Does he still believe that I’m controlling you?”

A harsh laugh rumbles in Dean’s throat and he shakes his head. “No, and sorta yes. Us letting him go without hurting him – y’know, aside from the fisticuffs – was a _really_ fucking smart thing to do. He’s willing to warm up to the fact that you might not actually be as bad as he thinks Hamiaah are.” Something disappointed flickers behind his eyes and Dean glances away. “But he still thinks that something’s gotta be fucked up in my head for me to like dick now. Only difference is now he doesn’t think it’s _your_ fault.”

“That’s a step in the right direction, I suppose.” He muses, taking a few sips of his tea while he thinks this all over. Allowing John Winchester to leave with the knowledge of where he lives is an extreme tactical error. This is an exercise in trust – not only for him, but for Dean as well.

Dean runs his hand through his hair again and slumps back in his chair. “It’s going to take some work, but maybe we’ll be able to bring him around. Either way, the forest should stay on high alert. You do kind of have the best alarm system in the world.”

“And yet I was still caught by _two_ Winchesters.” Castiel glances up at him from under his eyelashes, smiling against the rim of his cup.

He snorts a laugh and gives his own wry grin. “But I’m the better looking one, right?”

“Of course.” With his smiling growing, Castiel tilts back the last of his tea.

“The thing that I don’t get, Cas, is how come you’re not mad?” Dean’s smile turns to a frown again, only this time in nothing but confusion. “He kidnapped you, was gonna torture you, and apparently was gonna sell you off as some kind of _pet_.”

Castiel puts his empty cup aside. “Because I understand. Were it me in his place, I might have done the same if it meant protecting you.”

“You don’t make sense.” His nose crinkles up again, but there’s a smile beneath it.

“Neither do you.” He points out as he stands and reaches across the table to take Dean’s dishes. “You threatened to shoot your own father.”

Dean shudders and stands. “Yeah, I’m surprised he didn’t shoot me for that after.”

“He didn’t seem _that_ scary.” Castiel tries a joke to lighten the mood but Dean just gives him a flat look.

“You’ve seen just how sunny a disposition he has.” He mutters, following Castiel into the cave and watching him rinse the dishes out in a pot of water.

He glances over his shoulder, wings dropping out of the way to see Dean. “And yet he didn’t hurt you for disobeying him.”

“Except for the fist fight.” Dean shrugs and steps in behind Castiel, working his arms around his waist and resting his forehead against the back of his neck. “But I did kind of provoke him. Maybe he’s not completely the man I think he is.”

“And you’re not the man he thought _you_ were.” Castiel reminds him, shaking the excess water from the cups and returning them to their shelves before he can turn around in Dean’s arm. It’s an awkward thing to do with his wings, but they’ve had practice. Dean is very fond of holding him from behind.

“Guess we’re going to have to get to know each other better now, huh?” He mumbles, leaning into Castiel’s chest and resting his cheek on his shoulder. “I’d like it if he got to know you too. But, y’know, without the whole wanting to kill you thing.”

It’s second nature for Castiel to fold his wings around Dean’s back. “I would like that.”

“Really?” Dean lifts his head, his eyebrows raised skeptically. “Even after he just tried to –”

“He’s your _family_ , Dean.” Castiel doesn’t exactly look forward to the next time he and John will meet, but the idea of meeting more of Dean’s family is rather appealing. “I would like to know your family. Sam, Jess, Bobby, and even your father.”

A wide smile splits Dean’s face, all teeth and happiness. “I can arrange that, y’know. There’s plenty of clearings in this forest where we could go camping. Or we could find a cabin and meet them there.” Already the ideas are starting to whirl through his head and Castiel wonders if Dean is going to try to manage this theoretical visit before winter comes. “We don’t necessarily have to bring them all here, right? Not for the first visit, at least.”

That seems best. As much as Castiel would like to welcome all of Dean’s family here at his home, the thought of inviting outsiders to it before he gets to know them properly is unnerving. It sounds like a good idea to wait until he’s met them in person once – or twice – before he’ll trust them with the exact location of his home.

He tilts his head and smiles at Dean. “One day they can come here too.”

“Even dad?”

“Eventually.” His smile turns teasing. “Once he’s past the whole wanting to kill me thing.”

Dean snorts a laugh and steps in closer, bumping his forehead against Castiel’s as he leans their heads together. He squeezes his arms tightly around him, his fingers pressing into the space between his wings. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Have I told you lately that you’re all kinds of awesome?”

Castiel lifts his chin until their noses brush together, his lips moving lightly against Dean’s as he speaks. “Perhaps. But you should refresh my memory.”

The cave echoes with Dean’s laughter before it’s muffled by their kiss. The rushing sensation expanding in his chest feels like free falling and Castiel throws himself into it head first. Kissing Dean feels like flying and he never wants to give it up.

There’s a long road ahead of them and Castiel has no idea where it’s headed. He knows where he would _like_ it to go, but the uncertainty of everything in between is frightening at best. Castiel _is_ certain about one thing; the only person he wants to walk this road with is Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel’s flowers…
>
>> \- Amaryllis: pride  
> \- Elderflower: compassion
> 
> Due to unforeseen time crunches and monetary circumstances, the art will be delayed until further notice. If you're interested, [](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com/post/75659575918/seraphlimonade-hi-limoncellos-im-opening'>you%20should%20definitely%20go%20buy%20a%20commission%20from%20Mari</a>.%20Go%20do%20it,%20please!%20It%20would%20really%20help%20her%20out!)


	48. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That doesn’t do anything to make Cas’s feathers smooth down again and he’s still got that wide-eyed look going. Smiling, Dean holds his hand out to him. “It’ll be okay, Cas. He’s an old grizzly on the outside, but inside he’s nothing but a cuddly teddy bear. Promise. C’mon, let’s go meet him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

After a month of planning, this is finally it. Dean barely knows what to do with himself right now. Of course he _knows_ what to do, but while his hands are packing, unpacking, and repacking, his brain is going a mile a minute in every other direction. It’s all he can do not to be jumping right out of his skin because sweet Mary mother of pie _Cas is going to meet his family_.

And the worst part is, Dean doesn’t really know _what_ he’s more worried about.

Is he worried about Bobby not liking Cas? Or is it that Sam and Jess might embarrass the ever loving fuck out of him by being gigantic fangirls? He doesn’t know what’s behind why his stomach feels like it’s three sizes too small, but _shit_ does it _suck_. Cas is going to be awesome, because he’s always awesome. But anything could happen and Dean feels like he’s going to piss his pants, or throw up, or both.

At least John opted out of coming along. They didextend an invitation to him, although pretty hesitantly, but apparently someone has to stay behind at Bobby’s junkyard to run the place while Bobby’s here for the next week. It’s actually a decent excuse, and Dean is more than happy to latch onto that instead of spending a week with tension levels on maximum. Throwing Sam, Jess, John _and_ Cas into the same cabin for a week is just begging for a meltdown of nuclear proportions.

On the John front it’s been a pretty good month, actually. He hasn’t mentioned going back to Angel hunting and he seems more or less content with going through some kind of rehabilitation by helping out at Bobby’s. Apparently he’s even been reading all of Bobby’s books about monster hunting and that’s another step in the right direction. Bobby says they don’t really talk about Dean’s situation with Cas, but he’s going to keep an eye on John until he’s more or less okay with Angels. He could use the helping hand around the yard anyways.

“Dean?” Cas puts his hands over Dean’s on the bag he’s just reopened. “You’ve packed that twice already. I don’t think you have time to be packing it again.”

“You sure?” He looks down at Cas’s hands and back up at him. “Do we have enough blankets? What about all your spices? I told them not to bring a whole lot of processed foods because you’re finicky about it and we’re going to be cooking everything ourselves, but –”

The smile Cas gives him makes Dean shut up. “We have everything, Dean. We’ll only be gone a week and the cabin isn’t _that_ far. If we forget anything, one of us can come back on Silvanus to get it, and I’m sure we can make do without.”

They’ve rented a cabin on the edge of a lake for a week. It’s a part of the national park, but it’s secluded and pretty far away from the rest of the camping grounds. Dean had done his research for this and he’d scoped the place out with Silvanus a few weeks ago. All it needed was Captain Cruciferous’s seal of approval for Dean to get the go ahead and book it.

He and Cas are going to be taking Silvanus to sneak in while the others go through the park gates. Everything’s under Bobby’s name, otherwise Dean would’ve had to drive in and he’d rather go with Cas. Even if that means having to ride Silvanus there.

Since the whole _saving Cas_ thing, they’ve been getting along pretty well. Good enough that he’s even inviting Captain Cockblock along for the trip – though he’s well aware that Silvanus was going to come even if he hadn’t. Cas had said as much the other day. It probably has something to do with Silvanus not quite being over the whole kidnapping thing.

As it is, Sam would’ve killed him if Silvanus _wasn’t_ coming. After all the times Dean’s complained about him, there’s no way that Sam _doesn’t_ want to meet Silvanus. Plus there’s that whole, walking tree made of magic thing going on. God, if Sam geeks out over Cas or Silvanus, Dean just might die of embarrassment. Or put glue in Sam’s shampoo. Whichever comes easiest.

The weirdest part about all of this right now is how calm Cas looks. But looks are deceiving and Dean knows him well enough by now to read the little signs. Cas has internalized his own freak out. The most he’s showing is a few twitches of the wings and the way he’s not sitting down. If he wasn’t freaking out, he’d be working on his mat while waiting for Silvanus to come back from wherever he pissed off to during the night.

Dean thinks it might be meeting Bobby that has Cas riled up. As far as he knows, Cas hasn’t actually talked to Bobby before. He’s been a part of a ton of phone calls with Sam and Jess, but Bobby is still the person in the shadows to him. Granted, Cas is probably also maybe just a little nervous about meeting the others too. Talking on the phone isn’t exactly the same as talking in person. There’s a million factors at work here and if Cas isn’t at least freaking out a little bit, Dean would be very worried.

He’s trying his hardest not to think about this as bringing home his boyfriend to introduce to the family, but that’s exactly what it is. Sorta. He’s bringing family to meet his boyfriend. It’s backwards, kinda, but it’s fine. Maybe he should take a pull from one of the wineskins Cas is bringing along, just to calm his nerves a little or _something_. But no, if he touches those then Cas is going to get on his case about saving some for the others. He’d made a special trip back to the clan just to get it because Jess was interested in giving it a try after Dean had talked about it after his weekend with the clan.

Further contemplating of things to do to ease his nerves is completely interrupted by the all too familiar sound of Silvanus thumping into the clearing outside. Dean doesn’t know if he’s happy that he’s finally here, or if that’s dread filling the pit of his stomach. He keeps himself from thinking about it by focusing on carrying the cooler and their bags outside while Cas figures out how to tie it all to Silvanus. They’re only going for a week, so it’s not like they’re bringing a whole lot with them.

Since the cabin is actually located within park boundaries, Cas refuses to fly there. He doesn’t want to accidentally be spotted or anything, so they squeeze together on Silvanus’s back and he carries them to it. Dean’s ass is numb by the time they arrive. Driving would’ve been kinder to it.

“It’s bigger than the felanthe.” Cas murmurs in his ear, arms still around Dean’s waist because Silvanus hasn’t come to a full stop yet.

“One and a half stories.” Dean points out, sitting up and stretching his back the first moment he gets. “It’s got a loft with a bed in it above the bedroom and bathroom in the back. I figure we can grab that one because you like sleeping up high, right?”

He can feel Cas’s smile against the back of his neck before he pulls away. “I do, thank you.”

They’re the first to get there, which totally gives them the right to pick the first bed. If Sam and Jess wanted the cool loft bed, then they should’ve gotten here sooner. God knows Bobby would sooner sleep on the floor then have to climb a ladder so he can sleep behind a little wooden rail. Either way, Dean is calling dibs right now and Sam isn’t going to try and fight it if Dean pins it on Cas for doing the bed claiming. Besides, he and Jess are bringing an air mattress to sleep on, so they’ve got no reason to throw a fit about it.

When he tells that to Cas as they’re moving the bags with their personal effects up into the loft, he gets the weirdest look Cas has pretty much ever given him. “I know what a mattress is. We used one in the felanthe. But how do they sleep on one made of _air_?”

Dean feels a little bad for laughing, but it gets Cas’s wings to puff up and he gets that cute little frown that Dean pretty much _adores_. “It’s a blow up mattress, Cas.” He explains through the giggles. “They use a pump to fill it with air so they can sleep on something better for them than the ground.”

Even after explaining, Cas is a little grumpy with Dean for the laughing. That lasts for as long as it takes to get their bed set up. The loft bed isn’t much more than a mattress on the floor and this time Cas doesn’t bother with making it a hanging nest. They cover it in their blankets and throw Dean’s one pillow at the head of it. Between the two of them, they only ever need one blanket to actually cover themselves at night. Cas’s wings keep them plenty warm.

After setting up the bed, Cas checks out the kitchen. It and the dining table (which looks a hell of a lot like a picnic table to Dean) take up half of the front of the cabin. A beaten up old couch, chair, and coffee table take up the other half. There’s an ancient looking TV in the corner, but Dean’s pretty sure they’re not going to use it. Especially once Cas discovers the fridge and Dean has to explain that the cabin has electricity thanks to an old gas powered generator outside.

“We’re not going to use any of it.” Cas announces, pulling his hand out of the freezer and shutting the door. “Turn it off.”

“Figured you might say that.” Dean sighs, picking up one of the bags and tossing it to Cas. “I think I saw some candle holders in one of the drawers. Put a couple candles in them for later. You’re lucky I brought the grill too. We’ll cook outside once we’ve got a fire going.” He points at Cas while heading toward the door. “And _you_ are going to try a s’more, so help me God.”

Cas rolls his eyes at him, but his smile practically guarantees that Dean’s going to get what he wants.

While Dean finds the generator and turns it off, Cas puts the candles out and finds a place for the cooler they brought with them. Sam and Bobby are bringing more coolers and there’s a little convenience store at the park entrance that sells ice. If they need more over the next week, they can just go get it. Otherwise, they should be good. Mostly it’s just the meat that needs to be kept cold. That’ll go in Dean’s cooler. The milk, cheese and other various things will be in the other coolers. Maybe. Whatever, they’ll figure all that shit out once everyone is here.

They’re busy dusting out the inside and rearranging the furniture in the living room to make room for the air mattress when Cas looks up, his wings going rigid. Silvanus grumbles outside a window and the sound of his footsteps fades off into the forest.

“Someone’s coming.” Cas murmurs, glancing at Dean.

His eyes are wide and his wings tuck in, folding over his shoulders like he’s nervous. Dean would be worried if he wasn’tfreaking out just a little bit about meeting the others. As far as Dean knows, Cas doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of contact with Humans. He only met Amelia the once, and there’s the mates at the clan. Other than that, John is the only other Human that Cas has dealt with in pretty much forever. So, yeah, nervousness is more than just a little understandable.

Cas tucks into the corner out of the way of the window while Dean tugs the drapes shut, peeking through them. They’re surrounded by trees except for the side of their little clearing that opens out onto the lake. A dirt road leads off into the forest, heading back towards the main camp trail that goes through the park. Silvanus is supposed to hide when he senses a vehicle coming and Dean hopes he’s doing more than just squatting behind the cabin.

He keeps his eyes on the road and in a few minutes Bobby’s old 1971 Chevelle comes rumbling into view. Dean grins and glances at Cas. “Don’t worry, it’s just Bobby.”

That doesn’t do anything to make Cas’s feathers smooth down again and he’s still got that wide-eyed look going. Smiling, Dean holds his hand out to him. “It’ll be okay, Cas. He’s an old grizzly on the outside, but inside he’s nothing but a cuddly teddy bear. Promise. C’mon, let’s go meet him.”

x

Meeting Bobby Singer feels like how meeting Dean’s father _should_ have gone. Castiel desperately craves the approval he hopes to get from Bobby that he might never get from John Winchester. He knows that Dean will stay with him regardless of whether any of his parental figures approve of him, but Castiel truly wants his family to like him. Their approval of Dean’s choice in a mate is necessary, otherwise it will strain Dean’s relationships with them and Castiel doesn’t want to be the cause of that.

None of that chances how it feels like his heart has chosen now to be the moment to relocate to his throat. His pulse is loud in his ears and the bottom to his stomach seems to have dropped out. Only his lungs feel like they’re in the right place, but even they aren’t working properly. It’s hard to breathe and Castiel worries about how obvious it is that his insides have revolted against him.

He forces his feathers to smooth out and his wings to fold normally against his back. His hand feels clammy and he squeezes Dean’s fingers tightly. Dean gives him another reassuring smile before leading him outside onto the small porch that runs across the front of the cabin. They wait at the steps until Bobby has parked his vehicle to one side of the small loop that runs in front of the cabin.

“Ready for this?” Dean whispers, tugging Castiel after him.

“Not even slightly.” He answers under his breath, unsure if Dean even hears him.

Bobby is taller than Castiel expected. Dean described him as short, and scruffy, and always wearing a ‘ball cap’. He could have just said that it was a _hat_. And, of course, most people are short compared to Dean – but apparently Sam is _taller_ than him. He frequently describes him as a ‘mammoth’ and a ‘sasquatch’. Castiel is interested in seeing if this is just as true as Dean’s description of Bobby.

“Cas, this Bobby. He’s basically my other dad.” Dean claps his free hand down on Bobby’s shoulder. “But in a non-romantic, just friends, relation to my actual dad.

With an unimpressed, flat look, Bobby smacks Dean’s hand away. “Unnecessary introduction, idjit.” He extends his hand to Castiel, squinting at him from under the brim of his hat. “Just Bobby is fine.”

Castiel tries not to shift uncomfortably under the scrutinizing once over Bobby gives him. He shakes his hand firmly, Dean’s ten minute rant about the importance of a proper handshake in the forefront of his mind. “It’s nice to finally meet you. Dean has told me a lot about you.”

“Don’t doubt it.” Bobby gives Dean the same squint. “He’s a hell of a chatterbox.”

Dean snorts and rolls his eyes. “Am not.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, princess.” He laughs and shoves Dean toward the trunk of the car before grabbing Castiel by the arm. “Get my stuff. You, Cas, show me where I’m sleeping.”

Before Castiel can say anything, he finds himself being forcibly dragged back toward the cabin. He gives Dean a pleading look over his shoulder. It quickly drops into a glare at Dean’s amused grin as he waves them off, more interested in lifting the lid of the trunk to get at the contents. By the time they reach the door, Castiel has plotted no less than six different ways to get revenge on Dean for abandoning him to show Bobby around the cabin.

As soon as the door is closed, Bobby lets go of Castiel’s arm and glances around the room. “Not bad. He may be an idjit, but Dean’s got good taste.” He looks pointedly at Castiel and his feathers spread in delight at the compliment. “Heard all about what John did – was gonna do. You alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Castiel ducks his head and continues across to the back rooms. “Dean and I will be sleeping in the loft, but there is a bedroom down here that he says is ‘first come first serve’.”

Bobby pushes past him into the bedroom. It’s sparse. Castiel had poked through it earlier. Nothing more than a bed and a chest of drawers under the one window against the back wall. Bobby seems to approve, nodding as he turns in a circle and looking it over.

“It wasn’t right what he was gonna do.” He continues, sitting on the bed and bouncing on the mattress a few times. “I’m working on him, but he’s more bullheaded than Dean. It’ll take time.”

“I’ve been over this many times with Dean.” Castiel backs out of the doorway as Bobby goes to inspect the bathroom. “I understand why John did what he did and I don’t fault him for it.”

“Not many people would say that.” Bobby fixes him with a squint again, but it’s not as calculating as before. This seems more _impressed_ , if anything. “Dean treating you right?”

Castiel tilts his head, wings twitching in surprise. Shouldn’t the question be the other way around? He’s read enough of the books that Dean’s brought him to understand that much. It would make more sense for Bobby to be worried about how Castiel is treating Dean, seeing as he’s one of _Dean’s_ father figures.

“I’ve never been treated better.” The truth of the statement sends warm flooding through Castiel’s chest and his feathers spread with it.

Bobby nods, the answer apparently acceptable, and continues to inspect the kitchen. “And you’re treating him right?”

 _There’s_ the question that Castiel had been expecting and he ducks his head demurely. “I would like to think so, yes.”

“Good.” If Castiel didn’t know any better, he’d say that was a smile hidden under Bobby’s beard.

“You two talking about me?” Dean asks, announcing his presence as he shoulders open the door. He’s carrying two duffle bags, one hanging from each arm, and a large cooler in his hands. “I think my ears are burning.”

Castiel takes the cooler from him, frowning in concern. “Were you bitten by an insect? I can heal it for you if they’re irritating you.”

Bobby snorts loudly and Dean gives Castiel a warm, fond smile. “Don’t worry about it, Cas. It’s just an expression that means someone’s talking about you.” He shifts the duffle bags to his shoulders and nods at the cooler. “Just put that in the fridge, why don’t you? The extra insulation will keep it cold longer. Bobby, you’re in the back, huh?”

“This one’s food.” Bobby takes one of the bags from Dean and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Careful with my shit, boy. There’s breakables in there.”

“I can put that away.” Castiel offers, closing the fridge door and taking the bag from Bobby as Dean shuffles away to the bedroom. “You can relax or unpack your things – if you’d like.” He quickly adds as Bobby raises an eyebrow at him.

“Might as well. Ain’t got much of anything else to do right now until Sam and Jess get here.” He shrugs and stops Dean as he’s coming out of the bedroom. “Any word on when they’re going to get here?”

“Few more hours, I think.” Dean shrugs and a teasing grin slides onto his lips. “They got a late start because Sam had to let his hair dry.”

Castiel smothers a smile, turning his back so neither of them will see the amusement he shares. He doesn’t want to get on Sam’s bad side before he’s even met him by enjoying the little jokes Dean makes to tease him – even when he’s not here. Castiel would prefer to wait until he and Sam have a friendship of their own before he takes part in any teasing. The only people he is truly comfortable being _that_ relaxed with are Dean and Balthazar – and Silvanus, though he’s practically a part of Castiel, so he doesn’t really count.

Thinking of him reminds Castiel that Silvanus is still waiting in the forest. He focuses on the bond between them, ignoring Dean as he squeezes in next to him at the counter and starts helping to put the food away. Castiel fills their bond with calm and patience. They’ll introduce Bobby to Silvanus soon, once he’s settled. It’s enough to assuage the displeased riot of Silvanus’s emotions.

After what happened with John, Silvanus has been unwilling to leave Castiel for more than a day and that was only if Dean was with him. For the one week that Dean was gone hunting and making arrangements for the cabin, Silvanus hadn’t left his side. His fears regarding First Qaal still echo strongly in their bond and Castiel’s understanding of them is the only thing that has kept him from insisting that he’ll be fine and that Silvanus should return to his rounds of the forest.

Dean’s shoulder bumps his and effectively pulls Castiel’s attention back to him. “Hey, did you hear me?” He’s talking in a low whisper and glancing over his shoulder repeatedly.

“No. What did you say?”

“I said; did Bobby say anything weird?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Was there anything specific I should have been listening for?” His attention is immediately divided again as he sorts through everything that Bobby bought.

He’s pleased to see all the different ingredients – though Bobby did bring some canned food. Castiel is going to do his best to make sure that no one eats any of the canned food. The least he can do for Dean and his family is make sure that they eat proper meals without all the processed and preserving ingredients he reads on the sides of the can.

“Put these in the very back.” Castiel instructs as he hands it off.

Dean snorts a laugh but obliges and turns the conversation back. “You’d tell me if Bobby cussed you out, right? He didn’t, did he?”

“Should he have?” Castiel looks up from what appears to be a bag of flour and looks at Dean curiously, a little worried. If Bobby didn’t do what Dean thought he would, does that mean Bobby doesn’t like him?

A wide smile makes Dean’s eyes crinkle and he puts an arm over Castiel’s shoulders, pulling him against his side. “If he said actually _words_ to you, then I guess he must like you. You’ll know you’re part of the family when he starts swearing like a sailor in front of you.”

“How is that different from if he’d cursed at me?”

“He’s complicated.” Dean laughs and reaches across Castiel for his other arm, pulling him around to face him. “Don’t worry about it. Bobby likes you. You’re awesome and everyone is going to love you.”

Castiel’s feathers spread again and he can’t resist folding Dean in his wings, drawing him in even closer. He rests his forehead against Dean’s for a moment, breathing him in. Dean doesn’t give him long to do it, catching Castiel’s lips in a gentle kiss. He drops kisses along Castiel’s jaw, continuing to murmur the same reassurances against his skin as gentle fingers tilt Castiel’s chin to the side until Dean can mouth at the side of his throat.

“You’re not gonna be making stupid mushy faces at each other all week, are you?” Bobby complains, interrupting the moment.

Dean laughs and drops his forehead to Castiel’s shoulder. It’s all Castiel can do not to pull away sharply, his wings folding against his back almost embarrassed to be caught like this. It feels inappropriate to be this close with Dean in front of Bobby. But Dean doesn’t seem to have any problems with it. If anything, he holds Castiel tighter as he looks back over his shoulder.

“Ah, maybe. Probably.”

Bobby sighs and shakes his head. “What the hell was I thinking camping out with _two_ couples?”

“As if you didn’t bring enough booze to keep you from noticing.” Dean shoots back, finally stepping away from Castiel.

“Good point. Where’d I put my whiskey?” He huffs and turns back into his bedroom.

“I wouldn’t touch it yet, if I were you.” Dean calls after him. He nudges Castiel with his shoulder and gestures at the window above the couch where Silvanus is watching them. “You still have to meet Silvanus, y’know.”

Castiel touches Dean’s shoulder lightly, keeping his voice low. “I’ll go prepare him. Bring Bobby outside in a few minutes.”

“Got it.” Dean nods and Castiel leaves him to speak with Bobby.

Silvanus nearly pounces on him the moment he steps outside. He butts his head against Castiel’s shoulder as soon as he hops from the porch. **Who is the new Human?**

As quickly as he can, Castiel explains Bobby’s relation to Dean and how he expects Silvanus to behave. Castiel puts extra emphasis on _behaving_. The last thing he needs is for Silvanus to leave a bad impression on any of Dean’s family. He’s so untrusting of Humans that it’s a very real possibility.

The leaves on his head rustle loudly as Silvanus huffs and shakes himself out. **I will behave if they pose no threat and if the _forest_ approves of them.**

“You will behave because they are Dean’s _family_ and they deserve your respect.” Castiel hisses, cuffing him in the side of the head with his wing. “You will act properly or you will return to your rounds and not be allowed to stay for their visit. Understood?”

Silvanus huffs again, dropping heavily onto his stomach. He crosses his front legs and rests his chin on them. A low growl rumbles from behind his teeth and Castiel only barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes at him. Castiel can’t really be sure if Silvanus will be on his best behavior, but he can certainly hope. He trusts Silvanus not to _completely_ ruin things for him.

Surprisingly, Bobby doesn’t even seem surprised when Dean brings him outside. Castiel knows he’s heard stories about Silvanus before, since Dean greatly enjoys complaining about him at any given opportunity, but even Hamiaah who know of Silvanus are surprised when they see him for the first time. Bobby only crosses his arms and plants himself directly in front of Silvanus.

They stare each other down for several long moments before Silvanus stands up and looks at Castiel. **I like him.**

Castiel’s wings spread in surprise as Silvanus pads off to lay down next to the cabin. This is a first. Silvanus has never been this accepting of anyone before. Even Balthazar still has trouble with Silvanus from time to time.

“Well?” Bobby turns to Castiel, eyebrows raised. “Do I pass the test?”

“Apparently.” Dean frowns, almost pouting at Silvanus. “How come he likes _you_ and not me?”

“He _does_ like you.” Castiel murmurs, curling a wing over Dean’s shoulders. “Well, he does _now_ , but not so much when he first met you.”

Silvanus snorts loudly, but he doesn’t correct him. Dean still huffs and leans into Castiel’s side for as long as Bobby allows them. He takes a few minutes to simply look out at the lake before he sighs and turns back to them.

“We’re having a bonfire tonight.”

“There’s no fire pit.” Dean points out, gesturing vaguely at the empty ground around them. “Unless you brought one, I don’t think we’re –”

“I can dig one.” Castiel interrupts. “It wouldn’t be too hard. If you and Bobby gather some firewood, Silvanus and I can dig a pit. How big of a fire would you like?”

After Bobby gives his specifications, Castiel gathers stones to line the pit as Silvanus digs. It’s not very big, but there won’t be too many of them here to enjoy it. When Bobby returns with an armful of fallen twigs and branches, he also gets what he calls ‘lawn chairs’ out of the back of his car. They’re foldable chairs made with cloth and Castiel is fascinated by them. The backs are too high to sit with his wings over them, but they’re still comfortable to sit on if he leans forward a little.

“You didn’t bring enough for everyone.” Dean teases, dumping all the wood he’s carrying onto Bobby’s pile behind the chairs.

“You’re all young and shit.” Bobby grouses, leaning back in his chair and stretching his legs out. “The chairs are for the old folk and the women.”

“I’m the oldest one here, does that mean I get a chair?”

Dean laughs and leans over the back of the chair Castiel is testing out. He wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and rests his chin on the top of his head. “Sorry, Cas. Unless you look and feel your age, I think you’re gonna be out voted on the chair thing.”

“A pity. I’ll just have to sit with you then, will I?” He keeps his tone teasing, enjoying the warm moment between all of them while they wait for Sam and Jess to arrive.

“You poor bastard.” Bobby interjects, grinning at them both from under the brim of his hat.

The conversation slips from laughter to talking about what Bobby does for a living. Castiel knows what Dean has told him, but Bobby talks about it more in depth. He explains everything that he does, from fixing vehicles to collecting broken ones and using their good pieces to fix others. Dean embellishes the stories with further information, talking about everything they’ve done and going into detail about how a tow truck works.

They talk until Silvanus growls and stands, padding away into the trees again. Castiel ducks back inside the cabin, hiding behind the curtains over the window and watching from between them. Dean stays outside with Bobby as another vehicle comes along the road. It pulls around in front of the cabin and stops behind Bobby’s car.

Dean is at the door to the car before it’s fully stopped. Castiel holds his breath, watching as a young man – tall, long hair, clearly known; _Sam_ – gets out and is immediately enveloped in one of Dean’s crushing hugs. The young woman that gets out on the other side, her blonde hair tied up in a high pony tail, must be Jess. They look exactly like the pictures that Castiel has seen of them and that’s more than enough proof for his liking.

He leaves the cabin without waiting for Dean’s signal. His stomach is twisting on itself again, but he’ll face this moment head on. It’s better than standing around and waiting and putting it off longer and longer. The moment he steps out onto the porch, Sam and Jess look over and their smiles light up brightly. They look happier to see him than anyone Castiel can recall – save for Dean.

“I probably don’t really need to make any introductions.” Dean comes around the car to stand next to Castiel. “But guys, this is Cas.”

Sam shakes Castiel’s hand before pulling him into a hug. He’s not as tall as Dean had made him out to be, but he’s certainly bigger than Castiel would except from a younger brother. “It’s great to finally meet you, Cas. I thought Dean was going to try and hide you away from us forever!”

“Like we ever would have let him.” Jess laughs, shoving Sam out of the way. Her hug is much tighter and she winks at Castiel when she steps away, her gaze lingering on his wings for a moment. “The pictures don’t do you justice.”

Dean flaps his hand at her, getting between them. “You’ve got your own sasquatch. Stop eyeing up my Angel.” He wraps her up in a hug, smothering Jess’s laugh into his shirt. “And don’t touch his wings or I’m putting a snake in your bed.”

Castiel ducks his head, feeling a blush rise in his ears. He knows that they’re both very interested in Hamiaah and if they want to inspect his wings, he’ll allow it. “It’s nice to finally meet you both. Do you need help with your bags?”

“We’ll manage.” Sam smiles, popping the hood on the back of the car with the press of a button on the key in his hand. “We’re setting up in the living room, right?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Dean slings his arm around Castiel’s shoulder and leans into his side. “Hurry up, though. The sun’s going down and we’re making a bonfire. And _s’mores_ – provided that you remembered the ingredients, right?”

Jess tosses him a small bag and Dean’s grins when he looks inside. “There you go, Mr. Fussypants. Now go get the fire started. We’re going to get our things set up and then we’ll join you.”

“C’mon, Cas. You’re going to try a s’more tonight.” Dean tugs his arm, pulling him back toward Bobby and the chairs.

He looks back at the many bags Sam is unloading onto the ground. “But I should help –”

“We’ve got this, Cas.” Jess smiles at him as she lifts two of the bags. “Get settled. We’re just going to get our things inside. We’ll make our bed later.”

Castiel concedes and sits where Dean directs him. He watches him argue with Bobby about how to light the fire and listens to the growing irritation in his bond with Silvanus. No matter how much calm Castiel tries to soothe into the bond, Silvanus continues to sulk away between the trees. He doesn’t like having to hide away and now that Castiel knows who is here, he really shouldn’t have to. It takes only a pulse of consent for Silvanus to come out of the forest with a smug trot.

Dean glances up from the smoldering attempts at a fire, looking at Silvanus before turning his head to Castiel with his eyebrows raised. “Should I go warn Sam and Jess?”

“If you feel it necessary.” Castiel shrugs and picks up the bag Jess gave to Dean. “Silvanus already knows to be on his best behaviour.” He dumps the contents into his lap while giving Silvanus a sharp look. “You _will_ behave, won’t you?”

Silvanus snorts and settles on his stomach behind Castiel. **I have no reason not to – _yet_.**

“Good.” With that settled, Castiel turns his attention to the items in his lap.

He picks them up one at a time and turns them over in his hands; chocolate, graham crackers, and _marshmallows_. Intriguing. Castiel has heard of marshmallows before, but he’s never actually _seen_ them. The ingredients seem simple enough on everything, and in this case, simple is best. His reading is interrupted by a shout from the porch.

“Jess! Holy _shit_ , Jess! Get out here!” Sam’s excited cry surprises Castiel and he looks up sharply. “Jess, Silvanus is here! Come look!”

Silvanus practically preens under their attention. He’s only wary of them for a few moments until he’s sized them up. After that, he lowers his head and starts purring under their inspection. Castiel watches subtly while trying to look like he’s still reading the packaging. If he gives Silvanus any extra attention now while they’re fawning over him, he’s ego will inflate exponentially.

Dean intervenes the moment the questions start flying. Sam only manages to get through a half-dozen, all focused around how Castiel’s powers are keeping Silvanus alive, before Dean drags him down onto one of the blankets that Castiel had the foresight to bring out earlier before Sam and Jess arrived. Castiel smothers a smile at Sam’s pout.

“Save the questions for later, Sammy.” Dean laughs, shoving him down until he’s sitting. “You’ve got all week to geek out over them.”

Jess looks over her shoulder longingly as Dean pulls her towards the free chair between Bobby and Sam. “But we –”

“Later!” Dean insists, fixing them both with a squint equal to Bobby’s. “First we’re going to teach Cas how to make the perfect s’more before the sun sets. If you think you’re going to be getting cold later, now’s the time to grab a sweater.” When no one says anything, he nods in approval. “Good. Now move your ass, Sven! The spot next to Cas is _mine_.”

Castiel frowns and looks up at Dean in confusion as he tries to push Silvanus’s haunch out of the way. “Sven?” This is the weirdest of the many names that Dean has called Silvanus since he first took to giving him nicknames, and it’s the one that makes the least amount of sense.

“Sven, because he’s a pungent reindeer.” He explains, as if that actually explains anything at all, as he drops into the free spot on Castiel’s other side.

“A reindeer? He’s not a –” Sam’s snort of laughter cuts Castiel off and that sets Dean into a fit of snickering himself. “What? Why are you laughing?” The realization hits him suddenly and Castiel frowns at him. “Are you making another reference?”

Bobby looks just as confused as Castiel does, but Jess covers her face and shakes her head. “I still can’t believe that _you_ of all people went and saw Frozen.”

“ _Someone_ had to go with Sam and see it since _you_ didn’t want to.” Dean shoots back, picking up a stick he’d sharpened during the long conversation with Bobby. “Cas, hand me one of those marshmallows. We’re going to roast ourselves a proper gooey treat.”

S’mores are, as Dean predicts, both messy and delicious. Even Bobby enjoys them and Castiel eats more than his fair share. The sun has long set by the time that Castiel brings out the first wineskin. When he sits down again, he squeezes himself into the space behind Dean, sitting with his chest against Dean’s back. Without needing to be asked, Dean leans back into him much the same way that Sam leans against Jess’s legs where he’s sitting in front of her chair.

The laughter that echoes through their glade and across the waters is fresh and new to Castiel. He likes sitting back and watching how Dean interacts with his family. It’s different from how he acted with the clan. This Dean is free from reservation. He’s looser, lighter, and all the more radiant for it. This Dean, leaning back into his chest and throwing his head back as he laughs, is almost the same Dean that Castiel is used to seeing when they’re alone together.

Castiel enjoys the flow of stories that spread from Sam to Jess to Bobby to Dean, and even the few that he shares about the adventures he’s had with Silvanus. There aren’t many of them, but everyone listens with rapt attention. He only ever stops when Silvanus interrupts to remind him of any details that he forgets to mention. Silvanus’s memory is far better than his own.

It’s surprising to see how one person’s story can remind another of one of their own. More than once Dean interrupts Jess, or Sam interrupts Bobby, or Jess interrupts Sam, to start telling a story of their own. This only earns dirty looks, laughter, and unused marshmallows thrown back and forth across the fire. It’s quite frankly one of the most amusing displays Castiel has ever seen.

He smothers his smile against Dean’s shoulder and holds him all the tighter. Despite the slight chill in the air, Castiel feels warm and happy right now as he watches his new friends. All of this reminds him of something he’d long forgotten, though he can't remember quite what it is.

It’s not until the end of the week, after days of laughter and bickering and fun, of long talks and long silences where company is enjoyed, that he remembers what it was he forgot. This week has reminded Castiel of what it feels like to be a part of a family again, and he never wants to let go of this feeling.


	49. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean lets out a soft sigh, nothing more than an exhale that nearly sounds like Castiel's name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

Castiel can hardly believe that a month has gone by already since the week at the cabin. He’s already made Dean promise to arrange another visit with his family again before the snow comes. They have another one scheduled in a few weeks and Castiel can hardly wait for it. Jess has a few foreign recipes she wants to show him and Sam’s enthusiasm for Hamiaah culture is unparalleled and rather refreshing.

As excited as he is for then, today is not a day where he can worry about it. Castiel returned from a quick visit to the clan a few days ago with some exciting news. He hasn’t shared it with Dean yet, but that’s because Dean only arrived yesterday afternoon and it had been a flurry of activity to get his things unpacked. Dean had also been rather _affectionate_ last night and Castiel had forgotten to tell him then.

He remembered only a few minutes ago while he’d been outside relieving himself. After washing his hands, Castiel finds Dean standing at the shelf in what he refers to as the kitchen, chopping vegetables for the omelets he’s making for breakfast.

Clearing his throat, Castiel leans against the shelf next to him. “Dean, do you have any plans tonight?”

“Nothing special.” Dean pauses in slicing some mushrooms and glances at him. “You got something up your sleeve, Cas?”

“There’s supposed to be a meteor shower tonight.” Castiel explains slowly, hoping Dean will be just as interested in this as he was to first learn of it. A special plan had taken form during his ride home and he wants to surprise Dean with it. “I’d like you to come watch it with me.”

Dean smiles and pulls a red pepper from the bowl next to him. “I read about that in the paper the other day. Sounds like fun. Would we watch it from the top of the falls?”

“Actually –” His voice drops and he looks away at the rest of the room. This is the only part of his plan that Dean might object to. “I was hoping we could watch it from the top of Juniper.”

A few moments of silence meets his request and Castiel’s wings pull in tightly against his back. Dean stops cutting the vegetables, but he doesn’t put down the knife and he doesn’t look up from his hands. "Cas, I’m not the biggest fan of heights."

He knew this was going to be the objection.

"It's just this once. Please, Dean? A shower of this magnitude won't happen for another hundred years and I want to share it with you." Castiel slides up behind Dean. He neglected to put a shirt on after he woke up and Castiel’s hands drift over his hips and up his chest. "I won't let you fall, I promise."

Dean leans back into him, a wall of heat as addicting as any burning fire, even with the pre-winter chill creeping against the covers hanging over the entrance and windows. " _If_ I say ‘yes’, how the hell am I even gonna get up there?"

"I have it all figured out.” Castiel brings his wings forward, knocking them into the shelf as he cages Dean between them. “It will require lots of rope and vines. Think of it as a giant swing and I would just pull you up." He rests his chin on Dean's shoulder, watching his hands work as he slices and dices the vegetables for their omelets. "I've already grown extra branches on Juniper so there’s a platform _with_ raised edges for us to sit on. You can even secure yourself to Juniper and everything." He presses light kisses along the side and back of Dean's neck. "Please, Dean?"

"And it's tonight?"

"Yes."

"And you're only going to make me go up there this once?"

He pushes his nose into the short hairs at the base of Dean’s skull. "Just tonight."

Dean puts the knife down and sighs heavily, head hanging forward. "Fine."

Castiel turns him around sharply and presses Dean back against the shelf. He cradles Dean’s face between his palms and peppers his lips with pleased kisses as his wings flare and tremble happily. There had only been a little worry in his heart that Dean would say ‘no’, but Dean has never denied him anything that he _really_ wants. He smiles into every kiss and whisper thanks around each one.

Now there’s much to prepare with ensuring the platform of branches is secure and growing enough vines for a swing long enough to reach Juniper’s base from her top most branches. Vines are simple and growing them won’t be tiring. Controlling them so they retract and lift Dean to the top of the tree might exhaust him a little, but they’ll just be sitting there looking at the stars. It’ll be plenty of time for him to recuperate before they have to get down.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean murmurs, pushing at his shoulder slightly until Castiel steps back. “I know you’re excited. But I’m pretty hungry. Can I finish making breakfast now?”

He kisses Dean’s warm smile just once more before backing away. “Alright. I need to go to Juniper to finish preparing for tonight.”

“You’re not sticking around for omelets?”

“Of course I am.” Castiel grins and resists the urge to hug him again. Instead, he turns away to work on the mat hanging from his weaving frame. “I’m going _after_ we eat.” He wouldn’t miss Dean’s cooking for the world.

*

Castiel returns to the salman in the early afternoon to lead Dean to his spirit-tree. It takes hours to walk there and if they make good time, they should be settling in Juniper shortly before the shower begins. This will be Dean’s first time seeing her up close and Castiel is both excited and nervous. Juniper is a part of him, planted on the day of his birth and grown with his powers. Showing Juniper to Dean feels like he’s revealing an intimate part of himself. He knows he shouldn’t be nervous. This is _Dean_ , after all. But he can’t help it. The entire walk is done with his heart in his throat.

They bring blankets with them. The air is chill around them with the coming winter and Castiel has already switched to wearing his warrior outfit and the poncho. He doesn’t need it to stay warm, but he likes wearing it. There’s sentimental value to it and the small smiles Dean tries to hide whenever Castiel puts it on are all the more reason to wear it.

By the time they reach Juniper, the sun has long since set and they been walking by the glow of mushrooms and the flashlight Dean brought with them. Dean stops at the base of the tree and looks up her trunk, an impressed whistle on his lips. “Holy shit, Cas, she’s huge.”

Castiel places a hand against the bark and he’s not sure if it’s his pride or Juniper’s that he feels. “I’m going to fly up and lower the swing down to you. Just sit and tie the rope around your waist, then I’ll pull you up. It’ll be quick and easy.”

Dean gives him a wary look, but he nods and shifts the roll of blankets under one arm to free his other hand for a sweeping gesture. “Go ahead.”

He wastes no time in getting airborne and circling Juniper to her summit. The platform is still holding strong and the moment he lands, he pushes the coiled bundles of vine from the branch. The vines are grown from the branch itself and wrapped around it a few times for extra hold. There’s multiple strands braided together and they hang as two strong ropes all the way to where they join together in a tightly woven seat.

It takes a few minutes after everything goes taut under Dean’s weight before the faint sound of his voice echoes up through the branches. Castiel hopes that means he’s ready. He presses his palms to the branch and focuses his odlonshin. The vines snake back into the branch, pulling in on themselves and shrinking as they lift Dean up through the branches.

He stops when Dean is hanging under the branch. His eyes are closed tightly and he has a white knuckled grip on the vines. The rope around his waist has been wrapped around the roll of blankets too, keeping them secured in his lap.

“Dean, give me your hand.”

With his eyes still shut, Dean reaches up and Castiel grabs him by the wrist. It takes a little effort and his wings flare and flap of their own accord to pull Dean up the rest of the way onto the platform. The moment he has a solid branch under his feet, Dean relaxes marginally. At least now he opens his eyes and can see that the platform is both solid and wide enough to crawl around on. He lets out a relieved sigh and doesn’t move while Castiel takes the blankets and arranges a few for them to sit on and one that will be wrapped around his wings once they’re settled.

“Do you want to remain tied to the branch?” He asks before giving the okay for Dean to come sit against the trunk. “I can move the vine so it’ll be closer to where we’re sitting.”

Dean looks around and swallows thickly before he brings his hands to his waist. He undoes the knot with a few quick pulls and shuffles away from the edge quickly.

Castiel sits with his back to the trunk, making room for Dean to sit against his chest. He waits until Dean has removed his jacket, leaving his warm sweater on, before he folds him in his wings as Dean helps to get the blanket over them. His arms find their way around Dean’s waist and his chin rests comfortably on his shoulder. Dean is still stiff against him, uncomfortable and nervous. Castiel rubs his cheek against Dean's ear and murmurs quiet praise in Enochian against it, thanking him for coming here.

He can see the goosebumps from his words prickle over Dean's neck and he follows them with a trail of gentle kisses. Castiel does it to distract Dean from his worries and to help keep his attention on other things before the shower starts. This is merely a distraction. This isn’t meant to arouse either of them and it’s for that reason that Castiel keeps his hands out of Dean’s lap. It’s why he doesn't slide his palms down his stomach and start touching Dean in all the ways that he loves to, wringing the sweetest sounds from him.

The temptation to do so grows with every moment, but Castiel ignores it. He has a plan. If the evening heads that way, it will be later, _after_ they’ve seen the shower and _after_ he’s said all that he has to say to Dean. Resisting the temptation becomes so much easier when Dean threads their fingers together - a sentimental gesture that Castiel has long noticed is one of Dean's favourites.

Hand holding is high on Dean’s list of favourite things to do. Right alongside post-coital cuddling, affectionately rubbing noses into each other's hair or neck or behind ears, and pressing little kisses wherever they can reach whenever they can. Dean is a surprisingly affectionate person in private and Castiel soaks it in every chance that he gets.  

When the first meteor arcs across the sky, Dean gasps and leans forward. It's soon followed with another, and another, and more and more until the night sky is filled with streaks of light. Castiel has seen it before and it's just as wondrous as the first time he saw it with his parents from the tops of trees far shorter than Juniper.

But his eyes aren't on the sky. They're on the Human still holding his hands to his stomach, staring toward the heavens with awe painted clear on his face. The meteors colour Dean in their light, highlighting the different lines of his face in details that make Castiel's chest feel tight. He wishes he was sitting in front of Dean then, able to see his whole face and not just one side of it.

He pulls Dean back against his chest tightly, wrapping him more firmly in his arms and wings. Dean is completely entranced by the falling stars and he doesn't seem to notice. Something almost like jealousy curls in Castiel's stomach and it catches him off guard. It’s not the first time that he’s felt this way about things – Dean’s pillow when he holds it while he sleeps, or his car when he fawns over it, or even when Dean talks about the women and men who make advances on him when he’s at a bar during a hunt.

Castiel doesn’t like feeling like this and he pushes those feelings away. There’s a plan to remember and he can let Dean enjoy the meteors for a little longer before he puts it into action. While Dean’s eyes are on the stars, Castiel watches him. He notes how Dean relaxes against him, forgetting where they are as the sky swallows his attention.

When he deems that it’s been long enough, Castiel puts his mouth to Dean's ear. It’s time to get his attention back to _him_. His lips catch the lobe and he worries it between his teeth lightly. He nearly smiles when he feels how Dean tenses under his arms as he traces the shell of his ear with his tongue. Castiel digs his teeth into the lobe again and sucks at the sensitive stretch of skin behind his ear.

A shiver runs through Dean. He stifles a soft noise and his grip goes tight around Castiel’s hands. "I thought you brought me up here to watch the stars."

He ignores the comment and the smile he can hear around the words.

"Did you know that there are no words for 'love' in Enochian?" Castiel murmurs against his neck and Dean goes still. His chest feels both tight and loose, like his insides are floating but trapped in the cage of his ribs. He can feel his heart beating fast and hard against Dean's back and he pulls his wings tighter, feathers brushing over Dean's arms and legs. "We have many terms of endearment, but we don't have a word specifically for _love_."

Dean lets out a soft sigh, nothing more than an exhale that nearly sounds like Castiel's name.

"Humans, on the other hand, have so many ways in so many languages. I'm envious." He rests his cheek on Dean's shoulder, tilting his head to watch the side of his face and the way the meteor light dances across his skin, highlighting the blush rising in his cheeks. "There are so many to choose from. I could say them all to you and it would never be enough."

For a few more heartbeats Dean sits still, his eyes still focused on the sky. He takes a deep breath, holding it before he starts to struggle, trying to force his way out of Castiel's arms and wings. Castiel doesn't stop him and he waits before he allows himself to feel anything – disappointment, happiness, fear, sadness. He needs to wait to see what Dean does before he can even know what to feel.

Dean turns around, shuffling carefully on knees on the platform. With rough hands he pulls Castiel’s legs out and straddles his lap smoothly. Castiel smiles and relief floods through him as he slides his hands under the folds of Dean’s sweater, wrapping him in his arms and wings again.

"I only know one way to say it." Dean murmurs, leaning in and ghosting his mouth against Castiel's. He presses their foreheads together, shaking under Castiel’s hands with every breath. "And you're right, Cas, it's never gonna be enough."

Castiel smiles, warm and slow and _happy._ He murmurs the words anyway. Three little infinite words that make Dean tremble harder under his hands and kiss him with a new fervor Castiel hasn't felt from him before. It’s not desperate, but insistent, as if Dean is trying to speak words through it without giving them voice. Castiel opens to his lips and tongue, tasting everything Dean wants to say.

x

Cas is sneaky. Here Dean was, thinking Cas brought him up here to look at some pretty lights, but what he was _really_ up to was this. It’s not the first time Cas has told him he loves him. Far from it, actually. But Dean lives and breathes these moments with Cas. The quiet ones where it’s just them and he can let go and be as disgustingly sappy with Cas as he wants to be.

If he was a better man, he might have been able to say those words back to him. Dean feels it, burning bright like a supernova in his chest. But when he tries to put that feeling into words and force them out across his tongue, they shrivel and disappear. Every single person he’s ever said that to has left him. _Everyone_. He doesn’t want to say them to Cas and have him leave too.

But Cas came back. Cas waited. Cas stayed with him through more than half a year of barely knowing when they’d see each other again. He stayed through eight months of short visits – half of which where they were confined to the cabin because of the snow. Even after Dean’s fucking _dad_ came in and made a colossal mess of things, Cas stayed. Cas _understood_ and accepted and he still loves Dean despite all that.

It makes Dean light up from the inside out. Every time he stops to think about this sun sitting behind his ribs, he wants to get as close to Cas as he damn well can. He wants to kiss him until the world stops turning. God, but he never wants to let this go. Dean never wants to stop feeling this way. Is it even possible? There’s this whole great big black _nothingness_ ahead of them. Millions upon billions of possibilities and a hell of a decision he’s going to have to make one day down the road.

 _Down the road_. That’s a long way off and he doesn’t have to think about that right now. Thinking about it is just going to upset him and this is _so_ not the time or the place. Right now he should be paying attention to the way Cas is cradling his hips between his hands and swallowing his kisses like it’s how he breathes. He should be paying attention to the wings pulled in tight around him, shielding them both from the rest of the world.

That’s all well and good and all, but Dean wants more. He wants to get as close to Cas as he possibly can. Close enough that Cas will be able to feel this heat curled tight in Dean’s chest. Where Cas can verbally express his feelings, Dean is more tactile and physical and he wants to pull Cas close and show him just how much he loves him. It isn’t sex any more. It hasn’t been just that for a long time now and Dean _wants_ it.

Just… not _here_.

“Cas.” Dean breathes, breaking their kiss and trying to pull his hands back from where they’ve basically permanently twisted themselves into Cas’s hair. “Cas, we need to – down – home. _Now_.”

Heck, he’d be good doing it at the roots, as long as they’re not balancing on a platform a billion feet in the air. Though that might be a little cold considering it’s November and they’re _outside_ and all that. Maybe it would be good to go home. But that’s so _far_ and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to wait that long. It’s cold and dark and Cas really did not think this through. He knows what it does to Dean when he says stuff like this.

“Silvanus is waiting below.” Cas whispers against his mouth, raking his nails lightly over the small of his back. The bastard is actually _grinning_ and okay, maybe he did plan this better than Dean previously thought he had.

Getting down from the tree kills enough of Dean’s libido that the ride back to the house isn’t nearly as uncomfortable as it could have been. It’s still pretty difficult since Cas decides he’d rather ride Silvanus with Dean rather than fly back on his own. He’s tucked in nice and close against Dean’s back, his mouth hot and warm over the back of his neck while his hands keep toasty under Dean’s shirt, fingers spread wide over his stomach. If it wasn’t for the blankets in Dean’s lap, Cas’s sneaky hands might have acted up and done something they really shouldn’t be doing – especially on Silvanus’s _back_.

Once they’re home, Dean has no idea where Silvanus goes. He barely even knows how they manage to actually get inside past the hanging leathers and moss. Frankly, he really doesn’t give a shit. As soon as they’re off Silvanus, Dean’s on Cas again. Their walk inside and across the room to the table is broken more than once when Cas sees fit to keep pushing him up against the wall, their lips sealed to skin _somewhere_ to kiss and suck and lick.

Dean loses his hoodie, shirt and boots somewhere along the way. By the time he actually climbs up onto the table to get to the nest, he’s down to his boxers while Cas is kicking out of his pants and right behind him. The vines creak when Dean falls back into the blankets, sliding out of the way for Cas to crawl in after him.

Cas has always had some kind of thing about wanting to touch him all the time and he frowns when Dean scoots further away. He pulls Dean back by his ankle as he shuffles deeper into the nest. It ends up with Dean on his back and one of his legs practically hooked around Cas’s waist, but hey, he’s not complaining. Especially not when Cas leans over him and presses kisses to his stomach above the hem of his boxers. He follows them along Dean’s hip and down his leg as he pulls the shorts off and tosses them over the edge of the bed. Dean spares a thought to hope they don't end up in the fire.

That's the one and only time he thinks anything beyond the miles of smooth skin under his hands. He hauls Cas up to kiss him again while his fingers work the tie at his hip that keeps the loincloth in place. He throws that to the side and he doesn't care where it ends up as long as it's not between him and Cas anymore. To be completely, one hundred percent honest, Dean _hates_ anything between them. Distance, clothing, furniture, pretty much _anything_.

Cas slips into place above him like he was meant to be there, straddling Dean's hips in one quick movement. He leans on his elbows, hands in Dean's hair, and just kisses him. The kisses are long and slow. They’re everything that Dean loves and more. He keeps running his hands over Cas's sides and up his back, finding where his wings grow to knead between them. It’s a practiced movement and one that makes the feathers rustle and his wings spread out, arching over the whole nest and beyond its edges.

If Dean wanted to speed things along, he’d bury his fingers in the downy undersides and squeeze the little glands hidden at the joints. But right now, this is good. He could kiss Cas forever and be happy with just that. The whole being naked bit doesn’t hurt matters much either.

Neither of them knows how long it is before Cas rocks his hips, sliding against Dean in a delicious grind that replaces his blood with lightning. It's enough to draw a groan from both of them and breaks their kissing streak. Dean's hands clamp down over Cas’s hips, thumbs brushing over the sharp bones. He guides Cas to start moving properly and he holds his eyes with his, drinking in all the emotion he sees burning in them. Dean doesn't need to lift his head very far off the pillow for Cas to lean in and kiss him again, gentle and deep.

They move slow against each other. It's not nearly enough to give them anything that they need to come. For all they know, it's possibly hours later before Dean's hands slide down to Cas's ass. It’s not like he’s doing it on purpose. His body kind of runs on automatic after a certain point and Dean just lets it do whatever it wants. The moment the tip of his finger brushes over Cas's hole, things between them shift drastically. Cas finds the lube in record time, a bottle of it stashed somewhere in the blankets. They change positions in a shuffling flurry of limbs, Dean nearly getting clocked in the head by a stray wing in the process.

Cas gets on his knees and pulls the pillow to his chest. He presses his cheek against it and twists to look over his shoulder as Dean works him open with one hand. While his slick fingers stretch and twist and make Cas’s wings spread and tremble, Dean strokes his free hand along Cas’s spine and feathers. He presses kisses to the small of his back and whispers all the ways he can say those three words without having to really say them. God, he _wants_ to, but he keeps swallowing them back down.

By the time Cas is ready, his knees are about to give out under him and his wings are shaking violently. He's panting for breath, begging with every gasp and twist of his hips that Dean just get on with it already. Dean can’t do anything but oblige him when Cas gets like this. He slips in underneath him, laying back because one of his favourite things is to see Cas fall apart above him.

With a relieved sigh, Cas sits up and reaches back. Dean rubs his thighs encouragingly as Cas guides him in and slides down on his dick achingly slow. His fingertips brush Dean's stomach as he struggles to hold himself upright, hips moving in little circles while he adjusts. He wants to give Cas the time to get comfortable, but Dean isn’t having any of Cas being that far away from his hands and mouth.

He digs his heels into the bedding and folds his legs until his knees bump Cas's back. It forces him forward onto his hands and Dean pulls him down into another burning kiss. Dean knows what Cas can take. He knows how long it takes for Cas to get used to having Dean inside him and how much prep is needed in correlation to the adjusting period. Dean has it down to a fucking _science_ now.

His fingers thread themselves into Cas's hair as he bumps their foreheads together and snaps his hips up. Cas's arms give out and their kisses break around a sharp cry. Dean wants this to be good. He wants to show Cas how he feels with his body since he’s complete shit with his words. Maybe, when his brain gets derailed by all of this, he’ll be able to say them. Maybe, one day, he won’t have any problem making those words real.

Dean grinds up into Cas slow and teasing with long, smooth strokes. Just from the sounds he makes, Dean can tell that Cas was lost to the sensations long before this moment. He’s clinging to Dean's shoulders and his face is buried against his neck. A thousand different languages are murmured into his skin. Somewhere in there Dean recognizes German, French, Spanish, Japanese, and so many he's never even heard before. Every pet name Cas has for him in Enochian tickles across his pulse point and Dean wraps his arms around his trembling, whimpering, gasping Angel as he moves in him.

Cas comes with Dean's name on his lips, breathing them into his mouth as he shivers to pieces against him. It brings Dean crashing into his own orgasm harder than he thought it would. He holds Cas for as long as he can against his chest, neither one of them wanting to move. Eventually, just before Dean starts getting uncomfortable from the weight of Cas and his wings on his chest, Cas slides to one side.

His eyes are closed and he'd almost look asleep if it wasn't for the small, warm smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It's a smile Dean can't resist kissing. He can't resist pulling Cas to him, slinging a leg over his and wrapping an arm around his back while completely ignoring the mess they made. They can deal with that later when the afterglow has faded. When Cas isn’t cracking open his eyes to give him a hazy smile, turning his face into the hand Dean brings to the curve of his jaw.

Dean can't resist tracing Cas’s cheek, drawing his thumb over the grain of his stubble. He can’t resist this tugging inferno settled where the dead weight of his heart used to be. And he definitely can’t resist leaning in and whispering three little words into one more kiss.

**END**

** **


	50. Timestamp - Mating Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t want a _play-by-play_.” Sam makes a noise that sounds a lot like he just shuddered. “I just want to know how it affects him. You should’ve just let me ask this stuff at the cabin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)

**Day Zero**

“I can’t believe you’re asking me about this.” Dean would roll his eyes if he wasn’t focused on watching the road like a hawk. Thank God for speaker phone, because if he hit one little patch of black ice he’d probably end up in the ditch. “ Just because I might _sometimes_ enjoy  freaking you out with my sexual exploits, but I’m not going to give you a play-by-play of Cas’s _mating season_.”

“I don’t want a _play-by-play_.” Sam makes a noise that sounds a lot like he just shuddered. “I just want to know how it affects him. You should’ve just let me ask this stuff at the cabin.”

He groans and carefully turns onto the road toward the tree-gate. “That would’ve made things _weird_. Couldn’t you just be happy learning about Silvanus? I even let you touch Cas’s _wings_ , and you saw him fly, and he talked about their agriculture and bullshit. Why isn’t that enough for you?”

“But there’s so much _more_ about Angels to learn from him, Dean!”

“I don’t care. You’re not harassing my boyfriend with your sicko questions.” Dean huffs, inching along the cleared ruts Silvanus must’ve taken care of. The silence over the line just screams puppy face and he caves just imagining the wide eyes. “ _Fine_. You can ask him about it _in general_ , but don’t ask about _his_ mating season. It’s personal, okay?”

Sam whoops and Dean wants to bang his head against the steering wheel. “It’ll have to wait until the New Year. I don’t want anything _interrupting_. Y’get my drift?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just call me if you end up breaking your pelvis or something. Someone’s gonna have to come out there and get you.”

“Ha ha, fuck you. I’m in my _prime_. A week of sex isn’t going to make me break my goddamn groin.”

A snort of laughter makes the line crackle. “It’s not a week, Dean. It’s _ten days_. He’s going to be hopped up on hormones and endorphins and God knows what else. If you don’t pull _something_ during all of it, I’m going to be seriously impressed.”

“Prepare to be impressed, bitch.” He flips his middle finger at the phone propped up on the dash before bringing his hand back to the wheel. These kind of road conditions require the ten-and-two positions with a white knuckled grip. “Now shut up, I’m almost there and I need to focus on these roads.”

“Fine, you jerk.” Sam huffs, but there’s still laughter in his voice. “Seriously, though. Call me later. Just to let me know you survived?”

Dean sighs and quickly reaches for the phone again, easing his foot off the gas as he does it so he’s only coasting at a crawl. “I promise. Tell Jess I said ‘hi’.” He hangs up and tosses the phone on the bag next to him before putting his foot back to the pedal.

Cas is sitting on the snow dusted tree-gate, waiting for him. He’s spreading and folding his wings rhythmically while kicking his heels against the trunk. The mating colours are back in his feathers and it almost takes Dean’s breath away to see them like that again. His wings spread wide when he looks up and smiles. Dean can’t resist waving through the windshield.

Once the tree is moved, Dean pulls through and continues on down the small road. Cas has made it clear that he doesn’t ever want a lift to the clearing, but even with having to move the gate back into place, he still manages to sprint ahead and beat Dean to what he’s been calling ‘the parking lot’. It’s just as cleared of snow as the rest of the place and the shelter Cas grew for the Impala is standing off to one side, the door wide open with Cas waiting right beside it.

Dean helped build that door not long after the cabin trip when Cas surprised him with the garage. It’s only a bunch of closely grown bamboo, bent together at the tops and covered with a bunch of straw mats, but it keeps the Impala clean of snow. Dean’s been looking into getting his hands on a solar-powered generator (or building one of his own) to keep the block-heater going. He hasn’t found one yet, but he wants one so the Impala doesn’t suffer during his longer winter visits.

It’s the afternoon of the day before the solstice, which means that Cas should only should just barely be starting to feel the effects of his heat. Despite that, he’s still on Dean the moment he’s out of the car, pushing him up against frozen metal and kissing warmth right back into his mouth. His wings fold forward and cage Dean in against the side of the Impala.

“You’re here.” Cas breathes into the kiss, his mittens fumbling for a grip on Dean’s jacket before they give up and cup his face. “You’re _here_.”

“Where else would I be?” Dean smiles and slides his hands under Cas’s poncho-coat, circling around his waist. “Like I would let you go through this alone _again_.”

As excited as he is for ten solid days of sex, Dean’s actually is a little worried that his stamina isn’t going to hold out. Hell, he _knows_ it’s not going to for the later days, but dear sweet pie-filled heaven, he is going to _try_. This is not an experience he wants to miss two years in a row. And he remembers how much Cas had been hurting during those few moments he was here last time. He’s not going to let Cas be like that again, not if he can help it.

“I was worried you weren’t going to make it.” Cas mumbles, nuzzling his way under the collar of Dean’s coat to press his cold nose against his throat. “If you came at all.”

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. I’m here.” It’s taking a huge amount of willpower not to sift his fingers through Cas’s feathers right now. “How about we get my bags and go inside where it’s warm and we’re not going to get frostbite on my ass? I’m pretty sure that’s going to kill any chance of using it.”

Cas huffs a small laugh against his neck and steps back slightly. “I would be devastated.”

His wings shuffle restlessly against his back while he helps to unload the car and Dean can’t help watching the nearly liquid shift of the colours. “Cas, I wanna start now. Can we start now?”

“I’m afraid not.” Cas glances over his shoulder and gives Dean a small smile, a blush rising in his cheeks. “We need to hold out for as long as we can so you don’t get overwhelmed or overstressed. That’s what the Human mates said when I checked with them last week.”

Dean concedes because damn, that’s a good point, but it doesn’t stop him from whining at least a little as he follows Cas outside.

**Day One**

Cas woke up before Dean did. He didn’t get out of the nest, but before Dean opens his eyes he knows that Cas is sitting up and running his hand through Dean’s hair. When Dean cracks open one eye, it’s to find Cas staring down at him with that _look._ It’s something Dean’s still not entirely used to seeing. He’ll never, not in a billion years, get sick of seeing it, but it still throws him for a loop whenever Cas looks at him with all that warmth and affection in his eyes, like Dean’s the only person in the world who matters.

“Mornin’.” Dean yawns and stretches, curling closer around Cas’s legs. “How you feeling today?”

“I can feel the heat.” He murmurs, stroking his fingers along the shell of Dean’s ear and over his cheek. “It’s not uncomfortable yet, but it will be later. We should get up and make bread.”

That was not what he was expecting his morning to consist of. But Cas apparently has energy he needs to burn, otherwise it’s going to build up and he’s going to start wanting _things_. And Cas made it clear last night that they’re not going to be doing anything today.

“I can usually hold off from touching myself on the solstice as long as I keep busy.” He explains while rolling out the bread. “That’s why I like to spend the first day making all the food I won’t be able to make later. I’m almost mindless by the last days and having a store of bread helps.”

“But it’s going to be different this year.” Dean points out, shoving the first batch into the oven. “I’m here. Even if you’re mindless, I’ll still have enough of my wits left to at least fry up some bacon or something easy like eggs.”

Cas nods and gives him a small smile. “It will be appreciated, even if I might not be able to articulate that later. I just hope you won’t be too exhausted.”

“I won’t be.” He hopes.

*

By midday, Cas has started avoiding the fire. He sits on the opposite side of the room and works on his mat. Dean takes up the whole couch, within reach if Cas needs him, and reads. He’s got a book light with a crank charger, because it’s easier than trying to read by candlelight or the weird green glow of Cas’s glow-in-the-dark mushrooms.

When Cas starts panting, Dean looks up and frowns at the sweat beading on his forehead. “Are you sure you don’t want to –?”

“No, Dean. I’m fine. This isn’t even uncomfortable yet.” He shrugs and his wings twitch in small flaps against his back. “I’m just hot.”

“I’ll say.” Dean doesn’t even mean that ironically.

Cas ditched his shirt while they were still cooking and he threw his pants across the room half an hour ago, claiming that clothing is starting to irritate him. He’s down to nothing but his loincloth and he’s _still_ too hot. Meanwhile, Dean’s wearing socks in his slippers, sweats _and_ a sweatshirt. This is more serious than he thought it was.

Dean leaves his book on the couch and ducks into the cave, grabbing a bowl and cloth off the shelf on his way to the spring to fill it. The first sound Cas makes when he puts a wet cloth against the back of his neck is nearly pornographic. Cas makes all sorts of great noises while Dean wipes his back down, swiping under his wings and around his sides. He leans against Dean’s chest and lets his head loll back against his shoulder when he reaches around to rub the cloth over his throat and collarbone.

Before Dean can refresh the cloth and wipe it over his chest, Cas turns around and tugs him into a hard kiss. It’s a kiss that ends up with Dean on his back and Cas pressed up against him in all the right ways. Dean keeps the rule about not doing anything today in the forefront of his brain. It helps a lot with keeping his hands from grabbing Cas’s ass and pulling him down against him _properly_ or, heaven forbid, getting his hands on his wings.

Cas kisses him until he’s satisfied, sliding away almost sheepishly. Dean shrugs it off, but he keeps the bowl of water close for the rest of the day. Any time Cas starts getting too hot, or too sweaty, Dean wipes him down to cool him off. It always earns him an appreciative kiss and that seems to keep Cas happy for the rest of the day.

**Day Two**

There’s a hand on his hip when he wakes up the next day. Cas’s nose brushes Dean’s and his fingers dip under the waistband of his boxers. Dean smiles into the first tentative kiss brushed against his lips and he throws his leg over Cas’s, drawing him in. A mumbled greeting gets lost in the slick slide of kisses as Cas’s wing folds over top of them. The already dark room goes pitch black and Dean fumbles in the darkness, following Cas’s lead when deft fingers slide into his underwear.

It’s a hell of a lot harder to undo the knot of Cas’s loincloth when he can’t _see_ it, but Dean makes do. Bras are harder and he’s had plenty of experience undoing those one handed without looking. Cas makes the best, most appreciative sound _ever_ when Dean finally gets his fingers around him, squeezing and stroking to match the pace Cas’s own hand has already set up on Dean’s dick.

All in all, lazy kisses and languid hand-jobs are an excellent way to start the day. Cas is loose and happy against him afterward, laying heavily against his side with his face tucked into the crook of Dean’s neck. It’s a damn good thing that someone had the foresight to remember to store a bunch of towels and cloths up in one corner of the nest. Dean has trouble rememberingexactly _who_ did it, especially after coming so soon, but thank God he’s still got enough wits about him to give them both a wipe down.

Today feels like an underpants day for Dean. While Cas still skirts around the fire and consumes his weight in tea and bread and whatever else Dean cooks for him, Dean ends up shuffling around the place in his slippers and boxers with a blanket around his shoulders. He's not as resilient to the cold as Cas and there's a draft somewhere that neither of them has been able to find. Cas actually _likes_ it since it helps with his whole overheating thing.

Dean would wear more clothes, but he feels overdressed with Cas going around in his underpants. It's not fair to him that Dean covers up when he's dressed down almost to his bare ass and he's _still_ sweating. It gets bad enough that by the afternoon, Cas pulls on the pants and shirt that he calls his _warrior outfit_ , and runs out into the snow without a word.

He leaves Dean scrambling to get up from the couch and find some fucking clothes before he can follow after him. Dean’s annoyed right up until he steps outside. Everything goes up in a puff of smoke and he tries not to laugh at the sight Cas makes. He's spread eagle on his back in the nearest snow bank, wings shifting and fluttering against the powder.

“Need a hand, Cas?” Dean calls out, tugging his hat firmly over his ears and making sure his mittens are tucked into his sleeves.

“ _Please_ , Dean.” Cas gives him a desperate, nearly pathetic look that wrenches at something deep in Dean's chest.

He starts kicking and shoveling snow onto Cas's wings, half burying him at his request. “If it's bad enough for you to want to take a snow bath, why don't we just -”

“ _No_.” The snow gets all knocked off when Cas sits up sharply only to flip onto his stomach. He rests his chin on his arms and spreads his wings for Dean to do it all over again. “I have to hold off for as long as I can. I don't want to take more from you than you're physically able to give.”

Dean snorts and kneels in front of Cas, feeling the snow seep into the knees of his pants and ignoring it. “I'm pretty sure I've shown you over the last year that there are _plenty_ of other things we can do to help you besides straight up fucking.”

Cas frowns up at him, nose wrinkling unhappily. Ever since Sam explained the different connotations 'fucking' has when talking about sex, Cas hasn't liked saying it. Dean’s pretty sure Sam taught him the term _‘making love’_ just to get back at Dean for vetoing any chance of Jess being allowed to take home a feather after the cabin trip. What can he say? He’s a selfish bastard.

Sighing, Dean sits down and pulls off one of his mittens. Cas immediately closes his eyes and tilts his head into Dean's hand when he starts sifting his fingers through his hair. “I'm here for _you_ , Cas. I want to help and I know you're trying to take it easy on me, but it's getting hard to keep watching you fighting what you want.” He leans forward to rest his forehead against Cas’s crown, his hand sliding down to rest heavy over the back of Cas’s neck. His skin is hotter than Dean’s used to feeling. “Don't hold back on me. If you're worried about breaking my ass or something, I've still got hands and a mouth to use, y'know?”

“I don't want it to be just about _me_.” Cas murmurs, his wings shifting under the loose layer of powder. “I want this season to be good for you too.”

“It'll be a lot better if I don't have to watch you keep suffering, Cas.” He squeezes the back of Cas’s neck in what may or may not be some kind of show of dominance. Apparently Sam, Jess and Cas had a nice long chat about dominant and submissive gestures in Angel culture while Dean was taking a nap on the beach. Sam gave him an earful all about it on his way up here the other day.

It has more of an effect on Cas than Dean thought it would. His head pops up like he's part Jack-in-the-box and Dean narrowly misses taking the top of his head to the bridge of his nose. Cas’s eyes go wide to the point that it's actually kind of scary and he stares at Dean like he's seeing him for the first time.

“We're already on day two and all we've done is make out and jerk each other off. There's more you want to do, more we could be doing, and if it's gonna keep you from being uncomfortable in your own skin, then let's fucking _do it_. Okay, Cas?”

Dean doesn’t know what the hell possesses him to tighten his grip on the back of Cas’s neck, but Cas’s eyes get impossibly wider and his wings fold in tight against his back. Cas is on his knees before Dean can stop him. He wraps his wings around him quick enough that snow ends up on them both, dribbling down the back of Dean’s jacket. It’s a good thing, then, that the hard kiss Cas pulls him into is a good distraction . Cas uses a tight grip on the front of his jacket to pull Dean to his feet.

He’s not exactly sure how they manage to make it back inside, or how his attempted display of 'dominance' gets him pushed up against the first wall they find, but Dean’s far from complaining when Cas rips the hat off his head and shoves his hands into his hair. Any thought about complaining, or really any thought at all, dissolves right out of his head when Cas uses every trick Dean's taught him over the last year to make him forget how to breathe with kissing alone.

Dean’s probably going to get bark-burn or something on his back from how hard Cas is pushing him into the tree, half-grinding against his thigh while his hands go on a wild journey all up and down his chest. His palms are hotter than they should be when they sneak under Dean's clothes to spread possessively over his sides. Maybe Dean should've listened better when Sam was giving him that lecture in the car.

It's Dean's stomach that gets Cas to pull back, panting and still hard against his thigh. Dean manages a sheepish grin and feels a little bad that's he's barely at half-mast. If Cas had been grinding against his crotch instead, maybe he'd be right there with him right now.

His stomach grumbles again and Dean groans, tilting his head back against the tree. “Sorry, it's past lunch time.”

“We should eat.” Cas murmurs, leaning in again and catching Dean's bottom lip between his teeth before he's kissing away to mouth at his throat. “Go make something to eat, Dean. We need to keep our strength up.”

“But you're -” He makes a feeble attempt to get his hand over the front of Cas's pants, but Cas just brushes it away when he actually steps back to put space between them.

“I can take care of myself, and then I should be fine until this evening.” There's a wicked gleam in his eye and a shiver shakes through Dean that has absolutely nothing to do with the snow still congealing between his shoulder blades. “You can help me then.”

“Okay.” He licks his lips and eyes the way Cas palms the front of his pants. “Yeah, okay.”

This is a different side to Cas than the gentle, almost shy, Angel that Dean’s been kissing for a year. Sure, Cas has his moments where he gets a little more forceful when he knows what he wants, but he's never had this _predatory_ look to him before. It’s doing all sorts of things to Dean’s insides and he pouts when Cas hops from the table into the nest, flapping his wings and kicking up ashes in the firepit.

He’s not even allowed to watch while he cooks? That’s not fair. Especially with Cas almost blue balling him right now. No, scratch that. He’s _definitely_ sporting balls of blue because Cas - beautiful, wonderful, fucking _Cas_ \- starts making _noises_ up in the nest. Dean tries to ignore him and focuses on whipping up an easy soup for lunch that they can have for supper too, but that gets hard as hell when Cas all out _moans_ his name.

Dear God of Pie, supper can’t come fast enough.

*

The coriander is like a carpet under his feet by the time they finish eating supper. Cas wolfed it down without his usual demeanor and he’s been giving Dean the stink eye ever since. It might have everything to do with the fact that Dean is taking his sweet time eating as mild payback for being denied his ever loving desire to be of assistance in all matters of a sexual nature when it comes to Cas. He can be a vindictive bastard when he wants to be.

Cas’s wings keep twitching hard against his back and he’s shifting in his seat. His expression keeps flipping between uncomfortable, annoyed, and something that might just be a little desperate. Dean lets him hang for another minute before he puts his bowl down. He rinses his mouth out before crawling under the table.

It’s been a _long_ time since he’s kneeled under a table before, and he nearly hits his head getting comfortable. Cas makes a surprised sound in the back of his throat and spreads his legs under Dean’s guiding hands, fumbling to get his loincloth out of the way. Dean tries to draw it out and make it good for Cas, but the hands in his hair and the fingertips pressing insistently into his scalp beg otherwise.

Short and sweet it is.

“ _Dean_.” Cas hisses his name and his hips twitch forward on the chair just before he comes.

He swallows it down without hesitation, ignoring the taste and focusing on making sure Cas is completely satisfied. Judging by the sharp tugs to his hair, he might not be. Dean pulls off and licks his lips, looking up to ask if there’s anything else Cas needs. The words don’t even make it to the air when Cas kisses him instead. He damn near hauls Dean up into his lap and it’s an awkward shuffle to get Dean straddling his legs so he can sit on his knees.

Thanks and praise are whispered between every kiss as Cas shoves at Dean’s boxers to get them out of the way. Dean catches a glimpse of red carnations spreading through the coriander and his chest starts to burn. It has nothing to do with air and everything to do with how Cas can’t stop kissing him or telling him how happy he is to have Dean here while he gets his hands inside his boxers to return the favour.

**Day Three**

“Dean.”

He groans and turns his face into the pillow. It feels like the time when it’s the ass end of the night and people should still be sleeping instead of rocking a boner against his thigh. But Cas keeps murmuring his name in his ear and nuzzling his hair. His teeth graze the spot behind Dean’s ear and the first sharp suck basically destroys any sleepiness Dean has left.

Cas is on him the moment Dean rolls over. The kisses are rough, but his hands are gentle, running over Dean’s chest and shoulders and cupping his face. It doesn’t take long for Dean to start rolling his hips up into Cas’s, searching for friction. Cas doesn’t disappoint. He doesn’t make any effort to get their underwear out of the way and even if it makes Dean feel like a teenager to be dry humping under the blankets, he’s all here for it.

At least Cas doesn’t seem to mind that Dean goes back to sleep after they’ve both stripped out of their soiled underwear. He tucks himself against Dean’s side and traces the tattoo of the star until Dean falls asleep with soft Enochian being murmured in his ear.

The tree-house is empty when Dean wakes up. It’s warm and all of Cas’s weaving stuff is spread out around the frame. If it’s not in use, he usually stacks all the materials out of the way. Dean figures he must’ve gone to the washroom or something. When Cas isn’t back by the time he’s had something to eat, Dean throws on some clothes and heads out looking for him. He doesn’t have to go far.

“The snow again?” Dean leans over him and Cas shifts his eyes from the sky to his face. “Must feel good if you’d rather do that than wake me.”

“Good morning, Dean.” Cas’s wings shudder and he closes his eyes. “I was only hot, not trying to get rid of an erection.”

“Oh good.” He crouches and fills his hands with snow, contemplating whether to go with the good ol’ fashioned snowball or try for something a little less obvious. “I thought we were going to have to have that conversation again.”

His wings go tense but Cas doesn’t open his eyes. “Dean Winchester, don’t you even _think_ about throwing that at me.”

“I wasn’t gonna throw anything, I swear.” Dean answers innocently, decision made. It’s not a lie if he drops the handfuls of snow right on Cas’s face.

There’s no time to wait to see what Cas does. He knows retaliation isn’t far behind. The most logical course of action is to find cover and fast. Dean just doesn’t expect Cas to be faster. Either way, a handful of snow down the back of his jacket kicks off a snow war to end all snow wars. Cas is fast and sneaky and more than half his attacks come from the trees themselves. In hindsight, starting a snow battle with someone who can _move trees with his mind_ really probably wasn’t the best of ideas.

Dean can’t bring himself to regret it when they finally go back inside, soaking wet and shivering. Cas strips out of his clothes the moment they’re inside and boxes Dean in against the side of the table while he’s trying to do the same.

“Wet clothes aren’t fun, Cas.” He points out, squirming to try and make room to get his jacket off.

“I know.” Cas leans in and _oh_ , okay. Dean grins and stops, letting Cas push the coat from his shoulders. “Let me help you.”

A few minutes later and Cas’s forehead is resting on Dean’s shoulder while he’s still making soft little noises in the back of his throat. Dean makes a mental note that if he wants to have any part in this, he should wait until _after_ he’s hard too before going for the oil glands under Cas’s wings. Otherwise, Cas ends up coming almost ridiculously soon and Dean winds up trying to keep a trembling Angel on his feet with a mess cooling on his thighs.

Cas makes up for it later with a blowjob that has Dean’s toes curling and stars bursting behind his eyes.

**Day Four**

He’s gotta give Cas a round of mental applause for managing to last until day _four_ before he breaks and needs more than just a helping hand (or mouth). Cas had barely waited for Dean to come back inside from his morning outing (looks like it might be snowing all day) before he was being pulled to the couch and kissed within an inch of his life. Quick, efficient hands got him out of his clothing and Dean was only slightly disappointed to find out that Cas prepped himself before he’d even woken up – because he sure as hell wasn’t outside long enough for him to get it done after.

This is actually a fantastic way to build an appetite for breakfast. Normally Dean would try and draw it out right now, but Cas didn’t even want foreplay. He waited as long as was necessary to get Dean worked up and lubed down before Cas had settled himself in his lap and taken him in. He was nearly frantic for it and Dean would be worried if Cas hadn’t been whispering his name with every breath and cradling his face between his palms with every kiss.

Cas rocks in Dean’s lap, his head bowed and mouth open, wings spread and twitching. Dean digs his heels into the mats of the couch and tries to meet every roll of his hips. His hand works Cas’s cock between them, a tight fist for him to push into. He twists his wrist every upstroke and thumbs the head on the down stroke, earning a small noise of appreciation every time.

“C’mon, Cas.” Dean murmurs, trying to get him to open his eyes.

Half the fun in this is seeing how Cas looks at him – like he’s trapped between staring into the face of God and being on the verge of spilling sappy adorations. Dean will never admit to how much it revs his engine for Cas to tell him, in excruciating detail, how much he loves him. It’s like the most potent aphrodisiac known to man and Cas’s eyes get it all across without a word being said.

A tight whimper shakes through Cas and he tilts his head back, panting at the ceiling. It’s the exact opposite of what Dean wants and he groans, stretching to reach up and get his hand behind Cas’s neck. He tugs him down and there’s no resistance. Cas’s wings fold in against his back and he drops to his elbows, blindly kissing while his movements get sharper; more desperate.

Dean tries again, sucking at his bottom lip and biting it gently. “Cas.” He keeps his tone commanding, hoping that’ll break through whatever fog has settled over his brain. _Look at me_.

Cas’s eyes pop open; wide and glassy. It throws off his rhythm when his eyes finally focus on Dean, but there’s a hitch in Cas’s breathing and he starts again with a renewed force. Dean grins into the kiss, giving up on it when Cas can’t multitask anymore and devolves into little more than panting against his lips. When his wings start spreading again, one bumping into the wall, he knows Cas is close.

It doesn’t seem to matter. Even after he comes – shuddering around and above Dean, gasping into his neck – Cas continues rocking. He bears down and keeps moving until Dean sinks his hands into his feathers and holds on to the base of his wings as he comes too. Everything’s a trembling, sweaty mess of limbs and wings until Cas manages to reorient himself on his side, pressed against Dean with his wings dropped limply across the floor.

“This is the best mating season ever.” Cas breathes against the crook of his shoulder. “My head feels so much more clear than it has before. I was able to focus on the weaving this morning and it wasn’t nearly as bad as it’s been before while I was waiting for you to wake up.”

Dean hums and turns his head to press a kiss to Cas’s forehead. “That’s good.”

“Stay close today.” He mumbles, squeezing him tightly around his waist. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And it’s true, he doesn’t. Cas keeps him up against his side almost the whole day, his wing curved protectively around Dean while he leans against Cas’s side and reads or dicks around on the laptop. Sometimes Cas stops weaving long enough for a few kisses or just to rub his nose into Dean’s hair, like he’s refreshing himself with Dean’s scent. It’s a little weird, but weird has been a standard pretty much since the day they met and Dean doesn’t even question it anymore.

Well, actually, there’s one thing he’s getting a little concerned about. Cas is quieter today. It’s not a _bad_ kind of quiet, but the last few days he’s been pacing and huffing and being generally uncomfortable. Today he’s still just as hot as yesterday (and gives Dean the absolute most grateful looks he’s ever received whenever he gets a bowl of cold water to wipe him down), but he’s… _calmer_.

That’s one way of putting it.

The other way is that Cas is being a lot more forceful. When Dean gets up to start making a late dinner (time got away from him while he was absorbed in reading), Cas gets up too and follows him. At first, Dean thinks he’s going to help out, but then Cas pulls him into a hug, that turns into a kiss, that turns into rubbing a boner against his leg. Usually, every time they’ve done it out of the mating season, Cas asks first. Either with gentle touches or actual _words_. This Cas is like a weird alternate reality version of the Cas that Dean knows.

He’s pushy and demanding, but somehow gentle about it. This Cas has no problem with shoving him down onto one of the chairs and straddling his lap. This Cas is a gasping, writhing mess while still being a shadow of the one Dean knows. He still clings to Dean’s shoulders and folds his wings around them both. He still whispers Enochian in his ear and kisses Dean until he’s dizzy.

Dean doesn’t mind this new side to Cas. In fact, he likes learning something new about him. It’s interesting to see how the influx of hormones and all that shit changes him. Not that Dean will ever tell Sam that. If he does, Sam’s going to make him explain everything and as much as he flaunted it as a teenager, Dean’s sex life with Cas is _private_. It’s intimate and special and Sam has no business knowing anything but the bare minimum that Dean uses to tease him with.

In hindsight, trying to cook dinner with post-orgasm wobbly legs isn’t the easiest of things to do. And he would’ve thought that Cas would be good for the rest of the evening, considering once in the late hours of the morning was enough to last him most of the day. But there’s insistent lips on the back of Dean’s neck when they’re crawling into bed together and Cas tugs at his wrist, guiding his hand to the front of his loincloth.

The thing is, Dean’s tired. Twice in one day isn’t _too_ much for him, and he really hasn’t done a whole lot today. But it’s winter and in the winter he’s always been lazy. The cold just kind of sucks the energy out of him and he’d probably be better off hibernating than actually trying to do anything productive if he happens to be somewhere with snow on the ground.

Which means he’s not really feeling up for getting off again tonight. It would be nice, sure, but he’s all geared up for sleep and Cas was too until his dick decided otherwise. Dean rolls over to face Cas and his sleepy, uncomfortable little frown as he squirms against Dean’s hand. How could he ever resist Cas like this? Even though he’s not going to get anything out of it, Dean still slides down the nest and leaves a trail of kisses along Cas’s stomach as he tugs the loincloth out of the way.

Cas is plenty satisfied with that.

**Day Five**

He wakes up with Cas pressed all up against his back like a furnace wrapped in skin and feathers. There’s a hand in his boxers, sliding over an unexpected morning wood, and – if he’s not mistaken – there’s a pretty insistent boner being rubbed against his ass. The moment Cas notices he’s awake, he props himself up and finds Dean’s ear with his mouth, whispering his name in the dark under his wings.

“How early is it?” Dean mumbles into the pillow.

“The sun isn’t up yet.” Cas’s thumb rubs small circles under the head of his dick and Dean shudders at the sensation. “I need – please, Dean? You can go back to sleep after.”

He should be insulted that Cas would even think that he’d say ‘no’ to this.

“I’m not moving.” Dean’s still barely conscious as he rolls the rest of the way onto his stomach, all but forcing Cas’s hand to move to his hip. He spreads his legs and gropes for the bottle of lube somewhere above his head. “You do it.”

At least Cas isn’t so far gone that he forgets to take his time with prepping him. He’s methodical and affectionate and spreads kisses all across Dean’s shoulders while his fingers push deep and stretch him open. Cas’s hand is a little slick but mostly dry when he pries Dean’s fingers from the pillow. He pins them to the blankets, fingers locked between his, as he pushes in. It’s been a while since Dean bottomed, but it feels just as unexpectedly good as the first time.

Being fucked on his stomach means he doesn’t get to see the way Cas looks at him, but if he turns his head just right, he can still see one of his wings spreading wide and arching over them. The shifting feathers catch the glow of the embers below and Dean squeezes Cas’s hands harder. Cas lifts his hips and gets a hand under him to start a brisk, matching stroke. Dean will forever congratulate himself for the foresight of teaching Cas the courtesy of a reach-around.

He isn’t expecting to feel teeth dig into the skin on the back of his neck, but it pushes Dean over the edge and he comes with a shout that sounds a hell of a lot like Cas’s name.

*

Cas is like a livewire of energy and Dean is in sore need of coffee. He slept another few hours before Cas called him down out of the nest, practically bouncing in place as he waited for Dean to drop from the table. The jerk even makes an impatient face when Dean tugs his boots and jacket on because when he’s gotta go, he’s gotta go. Not even Cas’s goddamn mating season can stop him from taking a morning piss.

Dean’s desire for coffee goes unfulfilled when Cas gives him a thorough bath, wiping him down from head to toe before he spreads Dean out on the table like he’s a buffet Cas can’t wait to sink his teeth into. At least this his time there’s no biting, but Dean has the distinct feeling that Cas would do it if he hadn’t complained about the sting of the bite earlier. Instead of biting, Cas leaves a constellation of bruises on Dean’s hips and a galaxy of hickeys across his chest.

*

Dean thinks a third round in the afternoon might be pushing his limit. Maybe if he got to top once or twice today he wouldn’t be so sore afterwards. But right now, he’s just exhausted laying on the couch watching Cas. He’s content to lay down with Dean for something like twenty, maybe thirty, minutes after sex but then he’s up again and throwing himself into weaving or whatever he can get his hands on.

It’s the fifth day and from what Cas had said before, Dean has the distinct feeling that Cas should be wanting to do it more than just this. Maybe he’s holding back because today is Dean’s first day bottoming during the mating season? Really, Dean should call Cas out on it and remind him that if he wants it, Dean can handle it. He _does_ have two hands and a mouth that work just fine.

He’ll save that talk for if Cas gets _really_ antsy later.

**Day Six**

Cas seems to have it stuck in his head that they need to alternate days between who plays pitcher and who plays catcher. At least it doesn’t look like he’s getting sore. Dean still has aches from yesterday, but three times before late afternoon is enough for Dean to want to spend the whole day in the nest – and that’s something Cas doesn’t have any issue with.  He’s pretty cuddly today and he doesn’t move far when Dean starts grooming his wings.

“Do you remember my mentioning First Qaal?”

Dean turns his head from watching where his fingers are sifting through feathers. Cas is stretched out on his stomach, his cheek pillowed on his arms and he looks _really_ content. “Who and the what now?”

“First Qaal. Silvanus’s first master – the one who created him.” He cracks open an eye to look at Dean. “Have I ever mentioned him to you?”

“I dunno, maybe.” There are so many Enochian words in his head that Dean forgets where he learned most of them. “What about this Qaal guy?”

The wing under his hand curves down and gently urges Dean to shuffle closer. Looks like it’s story time. Dean keeps carefully re-aligning the feathers and brushing out the loose ones already starting to molt while Cas launches into talking about First Qaal and his mate. It answers the long forgotten question of why Silvanus didn’t like Dean when they first met.

“So, why does he like me now?” He asks after Cas finishes explaining all the depressing shit about how First Qaal died.

“You remind him of her.”

That gets Dean to stop for a minute. “Wait a sec. Didn’t you just say that Silvanus said that you’re pretty much the reincarnation of the first guy?”

Cas hums and pushes his wing into Dean’s hand. He starts grooming again, slowly, while putting everything together. “Does that mean what I think it means? Do you guys think I’m the reincarnation of First Qaal’s mate or something?”

His wings jerk with a shrug and Cas stops looking at him, suddenly very interested in the wood grain of the wall. That’s as good a ‘yes’ as Dean will probably get and he doesn’t really know how to feel about that. If he’s supposed to be the reincarnation of Cas’s past life’s wife, then all this between them now is starting to feel a hell of a lot like _destiny_ , and that’s something Dean believes in about as much as he believes in the Easter Bunny.

“Huh.” It’s the only sound he can really make and he puts all that destiny bullshit out of his head.

There’s not going to be a repeat of history here. Dean’s happy with Cas and Cas is happy with him. His family is more or less (especially with John) cool with him having an Angel boyfriend. Besides, this is _them_. He’s Dean Winchester and Cas is Cas, and nobody is going to tell them differently.

The sex after the story is a lot more like love making than they’ve had so far this week. Red roses and carnations spread all the way up to the ceiling when Cas leans over him for kisses between their smiles.

**Day Seven**

By mid afternoon, Dean is starting to rethink his whole outlook on ten days of orgasms. It might not be as great a thing as he thought it was. Especially when today Cas wakes up a little crazier than usual. He even uses _vines_ to pin Dean down later in the day while he’s working at getting him aroused enough to actually enjoy anything.

The kinky aspect of bondage gives Dean’s libido that extra little boost he needs, but it doesn’t last long. Cas can barely keep his hands off Dean for more than a few hours at a time. He’s sore and aching and it doesn’t matter how gentle Cas is, Dean still feels like he’s been wrung dry by the last fuck of the day.

Hell, he doesn’t even come for that last one. He lets Cas have a few minutes of thrusting before he goes for the oil glands to bring it all to an abrupt end so they can just go to sleep.

**Day Eight**

Sex toys.

Next year, Dean is going to bring _sex toys_.

At least that way, when he’s too fucked out to want to let Cas use his ass, let alone even managing to get it up himself so Cas can ride him, Cas can still get something more than his fingers. It’ll give Dean’s jaw a break too. He’s pretty sure he’s given more blowjobs in the last week than he has in the last _year_.

They make hollowed out strap-ons, don’t they? Dean’s pretty sure they do. He feels like he’s seen an ad for them on some website somewhere. That might be a decent investment to make for next year. Cas could still ride him and Dean wouldn’t feel like he’s going to die if he has to have another orgasm.

**Day Nine**

Dean is living in fear of tomorrow. Day ten is supposed to be the worst and after the last few days, he’s not sure his poor little heart can survive it. He nearly breaks down and cries his totally manly tears of joy when Cas swears up and down that he’s going to do his damnedest to let Dean’s dick and ass rest today.

Of course, all that ends up translating to is that Dean gets subjected to watching Cas masturbate. A lot. It’s like a special form of torture because _god damn_ but Dean wants to join in. His heart is all for it but his dick only gives an interested twitch. He’s too spent to even really get it up. As bruising as that is to his ego, there’s really not much Dean can do about it. But just because his body isn’t in for it, doesn’t mean Dean can’t _literally_ lend a helping hand, or two, or a mouth, a few times throughout the day.

**Day Ten**

There’s a mouth on his pulse point, a hand in his hair, and he’s not sure how many there are but there are most definitely fingers already buried deep and twisting and _how_ did he not wake up before now? Cas is breathing hard against his neck. He’s shaking and making little noises into his skin. There’s nothing quite like that and a fingertip dragging purposefully over your prostate to wake you up in the morning.

“Somnophilia, Cas?” Dean groans, stretching and rolling his hips down onto Cas’s fingers. “Didn’t know you were into it.”

“Dean.” Oh, that’s definitely a growl. Cas is actually _growling_. “I’m sorry, Dean, I - I’m sorry.”

Apologies have never sounded so good and Dean decides now might be a good time to move his hands. One ends up in Cas’s hair and the other in his feathers. Cas groans and shudders against him. He lifts his head and God but he looks _wrecked_. The kisses are sloppy and half of them aren’t much more than Cas panting against his mouth while he keeps prepping him.

“Please, Dean, _please_.” Cas whispers, begging. “I want to use my own oils. Please let me use my own.”

It takes a minute for Dean to remember what Sam told him once when he mentioned using Cas’s oils to groom his feathers. It was something about how birds use their oils for scenting and shit. Jesus, does Cas want to brand him with his scent or something? He’s already used it to fuck Cas before, and it’s been all over his hands more times than he can remember. But he’s never had it _in_ him and that’s – that’s a thought that sends heat hopscotch-ing down his spine.

Words kind of feel like they’re a little beyond him right now. Good thing they’ve never exactly been his strong suit. Dean buries his fingers in the downy base of Cas’s wings and finds the glands by touch. The shattered little noise Cas makes when Dean squeezes the swollen glands, milking them of the oil, is possibly one of the best sounds he’s ever heard.

Dean’s fingers are slick when he sits up, reaching between them to spread it over Cas’s dick with one hand while replacing Cas’s fingers with his own. He can’t tell the difference between the oil and the lube, which he supposes is a good thing. At least it doesn’t burn or anything and Cas keeps peppering whatever he can reach (arm, shoulder, face, hair) with broken kisses.

If his own fingers are anything to go by, Dean’s pretty sure that he’s definitely prepared now. He drops onto his back again, dragging Cas over him and hooking his legs around his waist. “C’mon, Cas.”

A rough kiss shoves him back into the pillow and Cas trembles under Dean’s hands, struggling to go slow when he pushes in. Dean appreciates the control because he knows damn well that Cas is going to snap as soon as he’s sure Dean can take it. The moment Dean rocks his hips, Cas does just that. He’s rough with hands, hips and mouth. It’s the closest thing to animalistic they’ve had yet this season and Dean both loves and hates it.

It’s always nice to have a good hard fuck every once in a while, but he likes the way Cas usually goes slow and tender and Dean’s just gotten so used to _that_. This is like the complete exact opposite of how Cas usually tops and even if it’s not bad, it’s not what he’s used to. Of course that doesn’t change how Dean still comes with Cas’s hand on his cock and a not-a-scream in his throat.

At least the second time is slower. Cas takes his time with the foreplay. He’s gentle in touches and kisses and getting Dean all worked up and wound tight before he pulls Dean into his lap and lets him sink down. His wings stay wrapped tight around them both and Cas holds Dean through the whole thing. He whispers praise and love and everything that just makes Dean hold him tighter and bury his face against his throat so he doesn’t have to see the way Cas is looking at him.

The third time, Dean is too tired to get it up but God does he try with his hands and his mouth. Cas squirms and whines and he might’ve pulled out half of Dean’s hair by the time he comes clenching around Dean’s fingers, but it’s totally worth it for the satiated smiles he gets afterward.

He manages to get it up for the fourth time and Cas rides him, but the fifth time is impossible. Dean’s convinced he’s never going to be able to have another erection in his life, but he lets Cas fuck his mouth so he can at least participate a little. Cas is completely on his own for however many times he manages to jerk himself off in the few hours Dean steals for a nap.

Time is completely lost on him and Dean almost wants to cry when Cas wakes him up with soft kisses and gentle, pleading whispers. He still can’t bring himself to actually _move_ , but Cas is – as always – completely happy to use Dean’s fingers and mouth.

The last time they have sex that day, it’s almost just like the second. Cas holds him close and moves in him slow, mouthing a variety of languages into his skin while he squeezes their linked fingers and presses them down into the blankets. Dean loses track of how many times Cas says he loves him, but the heat in his chest is blocking out his ability to breathe and he doesn’t make a sound when he comes.

He’s pretty sure he passes out after that.

**Day Eleven**

“We’re not having sex again for a _year_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Flowers...
>
>> \- Coriander: lust  
> \- Red Carnation: deep romantic love, passion, “my heart aches for you”  
> \- Red Rose: true love
> 
> **Check out the beautiful art added to last week's chapter!!**


	51. Timestamp - Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It pisses Dean off in more than one way. He’s angry Cas won’t give him a reason, and he’s angry that he’s so curious about it. This shouldn’t be something that bothers him, but it is and the fact that it’s bothering him bothers him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Seraphlimonade](http://seraphlimonade.tumblr.com) is the co-pilot, inspiration, and driving force behind "Angel's Wild" and I adore her. She spends so much time and effort on the art pieces that the chapters are based around, that it’s really kinda magical. Go give her some love.
> 
> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)
> 
> This is actually a short "bedtime story" I wrote for Mari a year ago that was repurposed into a timestamp because it's the only one of the bedtime stories I wrote for her that could actually fit into the timeline. The rest were ideas that we never ended up using or were just for fun.

Dean loves the summer at Cas’s. There’s not a whole lot of bugs and it’s awesome to feel content enough to fall asleep sleep on the beach or have picnics in various little meadows. Being out in the forest with Cas is like getting the chance to step out of the world for a while. Plus, spending time with Cas is always amazing.

Except for recently. Maybe.

Well, no. It’s still awesome being with him and Dean still thinks Cas is better than the moon, the stars, and pretty much anything in the whole creation of ever. But something’s changed. Usually, whenever Cas goes down to the lake to take a bath or cleanse the water, he’s alright with Dean coming along for the ride. It usually boils down to the two of them having a beach day, which sometimes leads to beach sex because Cas prefers good ol’ fashioned skinny dipping.

Recently, though, Cas leaves Dean behind every time he goes to the lake. Dean knows that Cas also sometimes prefers doing things in private when it involves the forest. But the lake has always been an alright thing to do because Dean can’t really distract him when Cas swims out to purify the water. When he was first asked about it, Cas gave some piss poor excuse about being able to ‘better commune with nature’ or something when he told Dean that he wasn’t allowed to come with him anymore.

He calls bullshit on that. This all sort of started after the last cabin trip they had with Sam and Jess almost a month ago. Those two fangirls had been all impressed with how Cas could purify a lake, but Cas had gotten annoyed when Dean stopped him from doing it in the nude like he’s gotten used to doing again. Apparently he always used to do it in the buff when he was all on his own before Dean came along and before they became more than friends.

Dean had tried to get Cas to wear his swim trunks, but apparently Cas doesn’t like the way they get waterlogged. That had led into the mentally scarring moment when Sam offered up one of his speedos (“They’re for sunbathing, Dean!”) and Dean will never not shudder violently at that mental image. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let Cas wear one of those monstrosities. Cas just did the purifying in his usual loincloth, but he gave Dean the stinkeye the whole time.

Is it Dean’s fault that he doesn’t think Cas should go parading around in his birthday suit in front of Sam and Jess? Does that really deserve him not being allowed to go with Cas to the lake? How in the hell did that translate to being denied the awesomeness that is a naked Cas in the water?

It’s not fair. Cas gets to be naked in the lake alone and that's just really not fair.

They've been together for a year and a half now. Of course he respects Cas’s boundaries and all that, but is this really about what happened at the cabin? Cas won’t confirm or deny it whenever Dean asks why he’s suddenly not allowed to watch his boyfriend strip down on a beach. Cas was alright with him watching before they hooked up and for the last year. So why is it suddenly something he has to do on his own?

It pisses Dean off in more than one way. He’s angry Cas won’t give him a reason, and he’s angry that he’s so curious about it. This shouldn’t be something that bothers him, but it is and the fact that it’s bothering him bothers him.

Which explains why Dean is crouching behind a bush in the middle of the afternoon on one sunshiny summer day, tucked between it and a tree while spying on his Angel boyfriend. Maybe spying is too harsh a word. Peeping? No, that's too... dirty. Checking on. Yeah, that sounds better. He's checking on Cas to make sure he doesn't drown or anything. That’s a perfectly legitimate excuse that does absolutely nothing to make him feel better for following Cas when he was told not to.

The thing is, nothing has changed. Cas’s whole process is exactly the same as Dean remembers it. He takes his wrap off on the beach, leaves it over one of the rocks and slips his loincloth off too, folding it just as neatly on top of the wrap. Dean’s mouth goes dry and he tries not to get too distracted when Cas starts doing a few stretches; spreading his wings and checking them out.

He tries really hard not to focus on Cas’s ass – his glorious, carved by God himself, ass – as he wades out into the water. Cas likes to do that thing where he drags his hands through the water and scoops it up onto his arms while adjusting to the temperature. Dean is the opposite. He just dives right in, temperature be damned. Sometimes it’s nice, sometimes it’s cold as hell and he spends a solid ten minutes shivering before he’s used to it.

Literally nothing is different in the way that Cas walks out far enough until he’s swimming, wings slipping under the water as he dives. It’s too bright in the middle of the day to see how the lake would glow during the purifying, but Dean’s pretty sure it happens anyways because a few minutes later Cas comes walking out of the lake all shiny and clean and pleased with himself.

Cas spreads his wings to their full length and Dean's heart skips a beat or two. It's a sight that never fails to make his blood starting pumping in a distinctly southern direction. That combined with Cas's endless miles of tanned skin is sending all that blood straight down fast. He swallows, mouth suddenly dry, and watches Cas shake his wings out, feathers rustling and flicking water in all directions. Cas sits on his clothes on the rock and starts running his fingers through the feathers like he's preening himself.

Dean tells himself he’s not jealous.

He damn near swallows his tongue when Cas speaks.

"You know you can't hide from me out here, Dean."

Caught. Fuck.

Standing up slowly, Dean shoves his hands in his pockets as he steps out onto the beach. There’s really nothing that comes to mind for him to say and he stares blankly at how Cas continues to methodically run his fingers over each and every feather. He’s watching him over the edge of his wing, calm in a way that is completely terrifying.

"I thought I told you to stay at home."

"You did." Dean bobs his head in a nod and glances around. There’s no one for miles to hear him scream if Cas decides to kick his ass from here to Timbuktu.

"Then why are you here?"

"I wanted to watch." At this point, if he tries to play the smartass card, there is every chance that Cas is going to make him sleep in the Impala tonight.

Cas tilts his head and moves on to the other wing. "Watch what?"

"You."

His hands stop in the middle of the wing and a chill runs down Dean’s spine when his eyes get all narrowed and dangerous. "I wanted my privacy, Dean."

He tries really hard not to wince. Yes, privacy is a fine thing that should’ve been respected and Dean acknowledges that he was a colossal asshole for ignoring it. This is something he accepts and will live with to the end of his days. What he can’t live with is not knowing why.

"You used to let me watch before. What changed?"

Cas’s upper lip curls and Dean fights the urge to back away when he stands and shakes his feathers out again. In three long strides Cas is right in front of Dean. Even though he's an inch or two shorter and Dean is wearing his boots so he's standing even taller, he still manages to freaking loom over Dean.

It's the wings, it's gotta be.

He gets right up in Dean’s face, close enough to be uncomfortable, and Dean backs up until he bumps into a tree. It's not until Cas has him pinned to the trunk, his whole body pressed against Dean's, that he notices the boner digging into his thigh. Dean has all of two seconds to be completely and utterly confused before Cas is kissing him like it's how he fucking breathes.

Before he really knows what’s happening, Dean's flannel ends up spread out on the beach with Dean on top of it and Cas working furiously at tugging his boots and pants off. Even then he doesn't stop Cas's hands from methodically stripping him down.

"I feel like I missed something here." He manages to get out before Cas yanks his t-shirt over his head.

Cas makes an impatient noise and sits back on his heels between Dean's legs. "I have been waiting for you to follow me down here since I gave you that ridiculous rule."

Alright. Confusion level ten, achieved.

"What?"

"I wanted you to follow me." He huffs, angling his arm up behind his back before his whole body twitches. "I wanted you to break that rule."

Dean blinks at Cas's hand when he brings it back around, fingers actually fucking glistening in the sunlight. There’s no way in hell that that's water and his brain is kind of short circuiting right now - otherwise, he might actually know what that is. "What?"

Now Cas makes a frustrated noise, leaning over Dean to kiss him again. It's rough and messy and it's a wonderful distraction from the slick press of the first finger into him. Dean gasps and his hips buck when Cas goes straight for his prostate, rubbing at it firmly.

"You broke the rule, Dean. You need to be punished for it." Cas breathes against his mouth, wings folding over them. "I've wanted to have you on this beach all summer."

Oh?

Oh!

Dean breaks from the kiss with a grin. "You could’ve just asked."

Cas slants his own version of a grin back at him and he presses in a second finger, wiping the look from Dean's face as he works him open. "True, but punishing you gives me the excuse to do it like this."

He bites his lip to stifle the little sounds digging their way out of his throat. Cas is usually gentle, taking his time to open Dean up before he pushes in slow and smooth. Cas makes love. And not that Dean doesn't fucking love having sex with Cas like that, but this... this... is a whole side to him Dean hasn’t seen outside of the mating season. That’s the only time he’s ever had rough sex with Cas.

Dean tilts his head back at the push of the third finger. It's before he's really ready for it, but the slight burn is a balm to how Cas is mercilessly pressing and rubbing at his prostate. His lips work over Dean’s chest, almost biting at his nipples while his free hand is stroking Dean’s dick with every way he knows how to get Dean hard fast. It’s flat lining Dean’s brain better than a rock to the head.

In the time between Cas's fingers and Cas's dick, Dean realizes where the lube is coming from. It's Cas's own goddamn oil and that makes something dizzying spiral through him, knowing that Cas is working the oil from the little glands under his wings and using it to slick himself up. Jesus Christ. They’ve used it before – plenty of times since the mating season, actually – but Dean’s heart still morphs into a hummingbird every single time he remembers how Cas is marking him up and making him his.

By the time Cas drags his hips up into his lap, Dean's just about ready to come. This is the only point where Cas takes his time. He pushes in that first little bit, stopping and waiting until Dean groans and rolls his hips for more. Cas keeps going slow, stopping to let Dean adjust on every inch. The moment Cas is sure Dean’s ready, is the same moment that Dean digs his fingers into Cas’s arms.

He pulls out slow and snaps his hips forward in one rough thrust. Dean won't say that he screams, but it's damn fucking close to it. Cas leans over him again, nearly folding Dean in half as he picks up a pace Dean is wholly unused to taking from him. It's dragging all sorts of noises from him as Cas pins his hands to the sand, fingers interlacing automatically.

Dean holds on for all he's worth and he's trying to say Cas's name, trying to say something, anything. It's all coming out as breathless gasps and little whimpers that Cas catches with his teeth and tongue on Dean's lips. Cas keeps muttering in Enochian and his eyes are burning into Dean, taking it all in and Dean can't breathe under the weight of them.

He can't even look away.

Every pet name Cas has for him passes between them in the harsh Enochian syllables Dean’s come to know. But there are still words Dean doesn't recognize. More names? Dirty talk? Fuck if he knows, but the sound of Cas's voice is skittering down his back and fanning the fire burning in his gut. He comes with a surprised cry that might, in some way, sound a lot like Cas's name. His chin tilts to the sky and his back arches right off the ground, body suspended between the crown of his head and Cas's lap.

Cas comes before Dean has even spiraled down from his orgasm, squeezing his hands hard enough to bruise and pressing his forehead to Dean's chest. They collapse back to the sand and Dean's shirt in a messy pile of limbs and feathers and Cas is fucking heavy but Dean isn't going to complain. Not when they probably both just came harder than either has since the mating season.

"Ozien." Cas says firmly against Dean’s neck.

"Ozien." Dean sounds it out in mumbled syllables into Cas’s hair, too fucked out to even think of moving right now. Of course he remembers its meaning.

"Ozien." Cas repeats, shifting enough that he can pull out and Dean groans at the uncomfortable feeling. He leans up to press a kiss under Dean's jaw. "Mine own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel's Wild is one year old today. Thank you to all our wonderful readers who've stuck with us this long ♥ We love you all dearly and can't thank you enough for making this long journey with us. There's one last timestamp and we hope you'll enjoy it next week. 
> 
> Mari's art will hopefully be added by next week. She's a bit busy with life things this week, sorry!


	52. Timestamp - The Ceremony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, Dean never expected to make it to see his early thirties. Before he met Cas, he half expected to die at the hands of an Angel during a botched hunt. After Cas, he still thought he might die during a hunt but that thought started getting increasingly less frequent. Not just because he’s damn good at what he does, but because he _tries_ harder - for Cas. The more time he spent with Cas and the more of Cas’s home changed to accommodate him, Dean realized they were well on their way to something _permanent_ and an effort had to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fanart](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/tagged/AW-fanart) | [Dean's Gear](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/49713727062/angels-wild-info-deans-gear) | [Castiel's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/image/48643057592) | [Castiel's home](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/51288812142/seraphlimonade-here-i-am-posting-the-sketches) | [The Language of Flowers](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/65142660144/the-list-of-flowers-and-their-meanings-that-i-use) | [Silvanus's Character Sheet](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/52824268720/seraphlimonade-silvanus-in-all-of-his-foresty) | [Enochian Glossary](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/56166261759/angels-wild-enochian-glossary) | [Castiel's Winter Clothes](http://riseofthefallenone.tumblr.com/post/64163102995/seraphlimonade-jens-angels-wild-commission)
> 
> Well guys, this is it. It's been a hell of a run and we would like to just say thank you to all our wonderful readers. Everyone who's stuck with us the past year and everyone who joined us during the ride. Angel's Wild was the first collaboration we've ever done and I think it was a heck of a learning experience all around. This verse has been so much fun and I don't think we're ever going to forget it. We wouldn't be where we are now if it weren't for you amazing readers and all your encouragement and love through every chapter. We won't be able to say it enough, but thank you. For everything ♥

Honestly, Dean never expected to make it to see his early thirties. Before he met Cas, he half expected to die at the hands of an Angel during a botched hunt. After Cas, he still thought he might die during a hunt but that thought started getting increasingly less frequent. Not just because he’s damn good at what he does, but because he _tries_ harder - for Cas. The more time he spent with Cas and the more of Cas’s home changed to accommodate him, Dean realized they were well on their way to something _permanent_ and an effort had to be made.

In the last few years – a _great_ few years – the tree house has kinda... _evolved_. There’s actually a septic system now that Dean took half a year to install himself. It’s like a port-a-potty that drains away from the house and Dean needs to drain the main tank every few weeks, but it’s better than having to squat in the woods. It’s technically considered an outhouse since it’s not really a part of the main house, but they’ve got a mud and stone type tunnel thing that leads to it so they actually don’t have to go outside during the winter.

The day that little project was completed, Dean nearly cried. It’s just as good an addition to the house as the ladder they finally made to get up into the nest. Dean really does _not_ miss in the slightest having to climb up onto the damn table to try and pull himself into the nest. No matter how awesome of a shape he’s in thanks to his job and Cas’s ever consistent need to feed him _healthy_ foods, swinging from a nest while trying to get into it is just _not fun_. Especially when he’s sleepy.

They don’t have power, still, and Dean doubts they ever will. But he’s actually kind of happy with that. Roughing it sort of agrees with him and he’s got enough solar chargers to power his laptop, their satellite phones, and whatever else he can rig up to them. There are more shelves on the walls now, for books and Dean’s things now that he’s all officially moved in. There’s nothing left at Sam’s or Bobby’s except for a few spare changes of clothes.

Dean lives with Cas when he’s not out hunting. It’s been that way for a few years now and Dean doesn’t feel the least bit cut off from humanity. Sam and Jess gifted him one of those satellite wifi sticks for Christmas one year and it’s been a hell of a lot easier to keep up to date when he’s staying at home with Cas for a few weeks at a time.

Sam and Jess come to visit a lot and Dean goes to see everyone at least once a month. They’ve invited Cas, of course, but he prefers to stay in the forest. He doesn’t like how claustrophobic it feels inside a car and nobody thinks it would be a good idea for a Hamiaah to go walking through a city. It would be hard for him to enjoy himself if he’s constantly looking over his shoulder. God knows how many hunters would be on him the moment he walked through the city limits.

So, yeah. All in all it’s been a fan-fucking-tastic few years. Well, _‘few’_. It’s closer to seven, actually. Still, they’ve all been super. He and Cas get along great and they rarely fight over anything because there’s nothing really in their life to fight over. No house taxes, or bills, or any of the other bullshit that most people end have fights about. Sure, they’ve had their ups and downs. But Dean solved their biggest _‘down’_ when he moved in permanently.

He solved it even better when he proposed.

*

A week. He hasn’t seen Cas in a _week_ and Dean’s freaking the fuck out. It’s not like this isn’t the first time he’s gone a week without seeing him. With his hunting, it’s actually kind of a common thing. But that’s with not _seeing_ , Cas. He’s at least _talked_ to him every other day for a fucking long ass time. Which is what’s making this purposeful and necessary radio silence so goddamn _annoying_.

The only communication he had was at the beginning of their week when Balthazar dropped in at Dean’s campsite by Juniper. For the last few months, Dean’s been wracking his brain trying to find the best items for the circlet that Cas is supposed to wear during the ceremony. Apparently it’s Hamiaah tradition that each couple select items for the circlet that their betrothed (Jesus Christ – _betrothed_ ) is going to be wearing.

That means that over the last few months, or maybe even since Dean proposed, Cas has been doing the same. Then, a week before the ceremony, the materials are supposed to be turned over to a crafter who will use the items to create a circlet that matches the personality of the person who’ll be wearing it. Dean had to meet with the designer to have it all explained to him and so they could get a general idea of what he’s like. Cas was supposed to fill in the blanks since the only other person who knows him better is probably Sam.

It was an interesting meeting.

The hard part was figuring out what the hell would complement Cas. Dean agonized over it for weeks trying to pick the right kind of flowers and find the _perfect_ kind of stones. He gave them over to Balthazar at the beginning of the week before their ceremony. Cas knows they’re not supposed to communicate, but he had Balthazar bring a message that was something about how he loved him and not to let this week freak him out or something.

Honestly, it didn’t work. If Sam, Jess and Bobby hadn’t been here all week, Dean might’ve had a frikken heart attack. It feels like he’s going to have one right now, and staying up most the night probably hasn’t helped much either. He barely slept and even though it’s still _really_ early in the morning, he’s been pacing almost nonstop for what feels like hours.

Dean’s supposed to have a bath with special purifying salts before he gets dressed. He’s had _three_ so far. Sam keeps reminding him that he’s sweating too much. As the Best Man, it’s been his duty to make sure that Dean stays hydrated and reminds him to wash up whenever he’s getting too gross. He’s also making sure that Dean doesn’t run away.

Really, that’s the last thing on his mind. He might be on the verge of a panic attack, but he spent too long thinking it over before he even proposed to run away on the Big Day. Dean wants to spend the rest of his life with Cas. Wanting that means he had to be prepared to spend the rest of _Cas’s_ life with him too. That took literal _years_ of talking with his family.

John, of course, hated the idea. Even if he and Cas are on kinda neutral terms right now and John’s given up on the Angel hunting altogether, he still doesn’t actually _like_ Angels. He definitely doesn’t like them enough to actually want his oldest son to pledge himself to one for the next three hundred years. It probably didn’t help to know that Dean is going to outlive him by a hell of a lot.

That’s still not something that appeals to Dean. Not by a long shot, really. But Sam and Jess were adamant that if Dean thinks he found _the one_ (and he’s pretty fucking sure that he has), then he should stay with him. It’s going to hurt like a bitch watching them grow old and leave him, but Bobby pointed out that it’s going to happen one way or another. Besides, with Winchester _and_ Moore blood, any kids they have are _really_ going to need someone to watch after them.

Dean’s still not entirely convinced that everyone is actually okay with the idea that he’s going to outlive them by a good couple hundred years. But they want him to be happy (with the exception of John who _does_ want him happy, just not with Cas) and it’s pretty much common knowledge that Cas makes him happier than anything – even pie, even the _Impala_. He knew when he made his choice that if he ended things with Cas he was going to live the rest of his life regretting it.

*

“Stop pacing and put your damn suit on.”

“I think I need another bath.” Dean spins on his heel and heads toward the tub of specially salted water. This’ll be bath number four.

Sam stops him, grabbing his arm and tugging him over to the suit hanging from one of the poles that keep the tent from dropping on their heads. For the last week, this little clearing and the tent have been Dean’s home. Sam and Jess have a tent of their own, and same with Bobby. John opted not to come to the ceremony, and everyone thinks that’s for the best, really. They don’t need him interrupting the goddamn _wedding_.

“Get your suit on.” He shoves the pants into Dean’s hands. “Someone’s going to be here any minute to take us to Juniper. You don’t want to make Cas wait at the altar, do you?”

Some very concerning reactions trip through Dean’s chest at the idea of Cas standing there waiting for him. He’d probably be worried that Dean got cold feet and ran off or something. Or he might get angry that Dean’s making him wait on their actually _wedding day_. There’s no way he can put Cas through that and he doesn’t want to start their marriage off on a sour note.

Dean strips out of his sweat pants to pull on the slacks without further hesitation. Sam always has been good at knowing which buttons to push. He helps Dean with the shirt, the jacket, the tie and the cummerbund. Jesus, he’s wearing a _cummerbund_. Must not hyperventilate, _must not hyperventilate._ That would be _bad_.

“Is he ready yet?” Jess lifts the tent flap out of the way. “Anna is here.”

Her sundress matches her hair and Dean is slightly relieved that she’s not all dressed up. He doesn’t want anyone showing up Cas (or him) on their wedding day and Jess was one of the top contenders for that. Anna was the other, but she’s wearing a simple dress too. She’s lovely, as always, but Dean’s confident that Cas is going to outshine anyone and everyone – including himself.

As nice as Dean looks in a suit, he feels weird walking around in one in the middle of the forest. Especially being barefoot and all. Apparently that’s important for the ceremony. They’re trying to do a melding of Human and Hamiaah here. It’s not a first for the clan, but it is a first for Dean. Cas had made sure that he was thoroughly coached on how the ceremony is going to go before they went their separate ways, but he still doesn’t feel like he’s actually ready for it.

Dean wishes this was the last ceremony they were going to have, but there’s at least two more they’re going to have to do. This is just the _marriage_ ceremony. Shit on a stick. _Married_. Him. Dean Winchester. Married man. Fuck, it’s giving him heart palpitations just thinking about it during their little whole walk from their campground to Cas’s soul-tree.

After the marriage ceremony, he and Cas are going to go back to their home and carry out the marking ceremony. When they’re all done that, everyone is going to be gathering on their beach for a reception a-la-Human style. There shouldn’t be any more ceremonies after that for another year, at least. Once they’ve been married for a full turn around the sun, the clan is going to come together to do the whole big shindig thing that’ll actually bind his life force to Cas’s. They’ve gotta be sure that Dean’s sticking around if they’re going to actually pour all that power into doing it.

Someone elbows him in the side and Dean turns a dirty look on Bobby before looking back at where they are. Oh. They’re already at the tree. Okay, so being wrapped up in his own thoughts kinda made the whole walk think speed up more than it should’ve. Dean will not have a heart attack at the altar, he will _not_.

Where’s Cas?

Juniper is as tall as he remembers her and she completely dwarfs every person standing around her base. There really isn’t a whole lot of people. Dean’s side of the group is pretty small – just the three. He would’ve invited what few friend he has, but none of them know that he’s been dating an Angel for just over half a decade now. As much as he loves Cas and as proud as he is of him, Dean’s priority is Cas’s safety and that means keeping a lid on his private life.

Where Dean has Sam, Jess and Bobby off to one side, Cas’s half is actually a little bigger. He’s got Anna, Balthazar, Uriel, Rachel and a few other Hamiaah that he’s gotten to know better over the last several years. Some of them smile at him, and some are so straight-faced and serious that Dean isn’t sure if it’s because they’re always like that or if they actually don’t like him. It’s hard to tell with Hamiaah.

Everyone groups in front of the tree in a semicircle before a pedestal. It’s been grown right out of the ground and it’s covered with a really nice woven cloth. It almost looks like silk and Dean has to resist the urge to walk right up and touch it. Judging by the shapes, he thinks the circlets are underneath it. He and Cas are supposed to wear them all through this ceremony, the marking one, and through the reception. The urge to peek at them is only curbed because standing behind the pedestal is Raphael.

It still throws Dean off to have to call this woman ‘ _Raphael’_. He’s used to the other guy, but he retired a few years ago and gave up the position to his sister. She took over the title of Raphael after she whooped his ass in whatever trials he held. Dean didn’t actually get to _see_ any of this, but Cas came home one day from a visit to the clan with the surprising news. The fact that he stepped down might actually have helped Dean in getting the approval to propose to Cas. He doesn’t think the former Raphael would be letting this happen.

She gestures for Dean to wait at the end of the little path that breaks up the semicircle in the middle. The path leads to the pedestal and it’s lined with little yellow celandines, pink peach and almond blossoms all growing out of a bed of ivy. Dean’s practically fluent in flora now and he wonders if Cas was the one who grew them all or if it was someone else.

His nerves start to settle when he gets caught up in contemplating whether or not he’s actually fallen into some kind of Tolkien-esque Elfish wedding or something. But those thoughts get dropped like a hot potato when there’s movement at his side. He glances over and sweet Mary, mother in heaven. Cas. It’s _Cas_. Wow, yes, that’s Cas, but he’s not like Dean’s ever seen him before.

None of his usual markings are in place. Not a single one. He looks strangely naked without them on his arms and chest. He’s wearing a robe with long, wide sleeves that loop up behind his neck and waist but leaves his back free for his wings. It kind of reminds Dean of a bathrobe, or a kimono – especially with the wide band that ties it all together over his pants.

Of course the outfit has nothing on Cas’s wings. They’ve been groomed until they shine, the black feathers like a waterfall of oil. There’s a net of beads – no wait, _pearls_ – hanging over the arch of each wing. They contrast the dark feathers and Dean can’t help the mental comparison that they’re like stars hanging in the night sky.

All of that pales when Dean finally meets Cas’s eyes and sees just how he’s looking at him. There’s a soft, warm smile ghosting on his lips. Where it’s not on his mouth, it’s definitely all in his eyes. He’s looking at Dean like he’s the center of the universe again and no one else exists except for them. Every single worry and anxiety Dean had evaporates in that instant.

Wow. He’s going to marry his best friend today. They’re going to be together for _centuries_ and Dean really can’t imagine spending that time with anyone else. It kind of makes him choke up and God, but he wants to reach out and just _touch_ Cas. Hold his hand, or cup his cheek, or pull him into a hug and kiss the every loving life out of him. Anything as long as it means he can touch him.

But they’re not supposed to touch yet. All Dean can do is smile back and try to get everything he’s thinking and feeling through with just his eyes. He thinks it must get across because Cas’s hands twitch inside of his sleeves and his smile gets just that little bit bigger. They stand a foot apart, staring at each other, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin when the Hamiaah start to sing.

It’s the start of the ceremony and Dean walks down the path with Cas, leaves and dirt crunching under his feet. The song floats on the wind, soft and strong all at the same time. He kind of thinks it sounds like the voice the forest would have if he was able to hear it with his ears. They keep singing even after he and Cas come to a stop at the pedestal. Raphael lifts the cloth off the circlets and Dean is immediately blown away by them.

The one on his side is black metal, like the Impala, twisted into sharp edges and soft swirls. A string of peridot and emeralds form a twisting line across the front of it. Cas pulls his hands from his sleeves and reaches out to pick it up gingerly. Dean dips his head forward for Cas to put it on him and the main point of it comes down to rest just between his eyebrows. It’s a little heavy, but a perfect fit and Dean loves it.

Cas’s circlet is all soft lines woven intricately together. It looks like it’s made of polished wood and there are two small chains of pink berry rose petals hanging from it. They both end in a black alula feather and frame Cas’s face when he puts it on him. Dean provided the feathers from his cache of stolen Cas feathers. There are a few sapphires glittering on the wood, the biggest stone sitting in the middle of Cas’s forehead at the center of the main swirl in the design. The other two are at his temples where the flower chains connect to the circlet.

He’d researched the meaning of a bunch of stones before he made his pick and decided on the sapphires for a variety of reasons. They remind Dean of Cas’s eyes and how they’re never really the same blue every time he looks at them. And they remind him of the night sky that he can see from their nest when he goes to sleep at night.

Cas’s smile is actually showing teeth now and Dean hopes that means it’s because he did a good job with choosing the pieces for the circlet.

Now that they’re both wearing their circlets, the song starts to die down and Dean can finally – _finally –_ touch Cas. The take each other’s hands between them like they’re supposed to and Dean can’t help squeezing them tightly, his smile growing just that little bit more. They can’t take their eyes off each other, even as Raphael starts talking.

It’s all in Enochian for the first bit, but Dean got a translation beforehand. She’s basically calling upon Caosgi to bless the pledge they’re making to one another and give them a happy life together. He and Cas bow their heads and close their eyes, waiting for the blessing. A tingle traces the edges of Dean’s feet and Cas squeezes his hand as a feeling flows up through his legs to settle warm and happy in his chest. It’s a lot like how he’s feeling right now, but there’s that distinctly _not his_ feeling to it that makes Dean think it might be the forest talking to him again.

Raphael switches to the English half of the ceremony and it’s a Frankensteined Human bit they took from their standard one where she takes them through the love, honour, and cherish until death do you part stuff. Frankly, she could’ve said pretty much anything at that point. Dean’s not really paying much attention to anything more than the way Cas is looking at him.

“I do.” Cas says, low and firm and Dean squeezes his hands.

He rubs a thumb over the back of Dean’s knuckles when it’s his turn. For a moment Dean thinks that the words are going to get stuck in his throat, but they come out just as solid as the little sun sitting behind his ribs.

“I do.”

Sam steps up behind him and Dean lets go of _one_ of Cas’s hands to accept the ring he gives him. It’s just a simple silver band and Cas stares down at his finger when Dean slips it on. Balthazar gives the other ring over to Cas and he slides it onto Dean’s ring finger with steady hands. He smiles at Dean when he takes a necklace out of the inside of his robe – almost a match for the one he’s wearing.

There’s a black alula feather hanging on the necklace. He carefully puts it over Dean’s head, avoiding catching it on the circlet. Dean doesn’t have a feather to put in the center of the necklace Cas is wearing, but they talked it over and Cas is going to tie his wedding ring there. He doesn’t want to risk losing it and he’s never had any trouble with the necklace before.

Raphael says a few more things in Enochian before she asks Dean and Cas to face her. She holds up the cloth that had been covering the circlets and continues in English while wrapping it around their joined hands – Dean’s left and Cas’s right. “With this cloth, we bind their families together. As a pair, they will walk around Castiel’s spirit-tree and in doing so, complete the ceremony and the pledging of their souls to each other.”

If Dean had a spirit-tree of his own, the actual ceremony would’ve been a walk around this one, a trip to his tree, and a walk around that one too. Since he doesn’t have one, they’re leaving it with just the one loop around Juniper. The Hamiaah start singing again as Raphael leads them around the base of the tree and everyone else follows behind them. Cas leaves a trail of pink phlox flowers behind them while they walk. He smiles at the Dean the entire time and Dean would be worried he might trip if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s staring right back.

The moment they reach the pedestal again, the singing stops and everyone crowds around them for congratulations. Dean’s pretty sure that he shakes hands with everyone, but he can’t remember if he did or not. His attention is completely on Cas and he literally _cannot_ take his eyes off him. Cas seems about the same. He doesn’t even look like he’s noticed that Jess is going on about how amazing his outfit is, or Sam’s questions about the meaning behind pieces of his outfit. Jess is wrong though. Cas looks well beyond amazing to the point that there are no words for it.

A low, grumbling roar is the only thing that reminds Dean that Silvanus is there too. He must’ve showed up with Cas and Dean had been too wrapped up in his new _husband_ to notice.

Raphael clears her throat and everyone’s attention turns to her. “The second part of the ceremony must now be completed. Castiel and Dean Winchester, please retire to your chosen location. We will see you again at the reception.”

He is _never_ not going to love that Cas agreed to take his name. Hamiaah don’t have family names. They only have the symbols they paint on themselves or their things. But now Cas is a Winchester and Dean feels like his heart is gonna explode every time he thinks about it.

Climbing onto Silvanus’s back in a suit is just as awkward for Dean as doing pretty much anything else in a suit. Even with his flowing robe – and Dean doesn’t use _flowing_ very often – Cas has no trouble getting up behind him. Silvanus takes them home at a steady pace, giving plenty of time for everyone else to get what they need to take to the beach. It’s going to be a hell of a long walk for them and that gives Dean and Cas all the time they need to paint their markings on each other.

Dean already has his all planned out. The frame is supposed to be a handprint, and it’s up to the painter for what goes in it. He knows what he’s painting and he practiced it probably half a billion times over the last week. There’s a notebook under his pillow back in the tent completely full of his practice sheets. It needs to be done perfectly, to go with the perfect spot that he’s chosen.

Silvanus lets them down right outside the door and he even gives Dean a questionably affectionate headbutt before he lumbers off to give them their privacy for this ceremony. The minute they’re inside, past the hanging vines and moss, Cas takes a deep breath and visibly relaxes. Dean waits for him to breathe for another minute before he reaches for him.

Cas stops him with a hand on his chest. “Help me take these nets off first, please.”

Once the pearl nets are carefully laid out on the table, Cas pulls him close and folds his wings around him. Their circlets clink when they rest their foreheads together and breathe each other in. Dean slides his hands around Cas’s waist, pulling him in as close as he can get, suit wrinkles be damned.

“I can’t believe your ceremony doesn’t have room for kissing.”

“Ican’t believe _yours_ have such stiff looking clothing.” Cas teases and tugs at the lapel of Dean’s suit.

Dean huffs and brushes his nose against Cas’s. “Shut up and let me kiss my bride.”

“Your _groom_ , actually.”

Yeah, Dean’s never going to get tired of that. He kisses Cas soft at first. They draw it out in long, lazy kisses. Learning each other’s mouths again after a week of not seeing each other, not touching one another. It’s always like this for the first kiss whenever Dean comes back from hunting or Cas comes back from the clan. Checking to make sure that nothing has changed, that all tastes and textures are still the same while comparing memory to reality.

It takes a while for Dean to get his hands moving again, tugging at the looping band around Cas’s waist. He picks at the knot and lets the whole thing slither to the floor. They have to break the kiss to get the part that goes behind Cas’s neck over his head without disturbing the circlet. But as soon as that’s done, Dean gets Cas’s lips on his again, licking his way past them to taste his tongue. The sleeves slide down Cas’s arms and the whole thing pools around his feet.

Once he’s got Cas down to his loincloth, it’s his turn to get undressed. The buttons and zippers and belt buckle don’t even trip Cas up once as he methodically strips Dean down to his own underwear without once stopping their kissing. They step out of their clothes and Cas backs Dean up toward the table and the pots of dye waiting for them.

When Dean bumps against the edge, Cas finally stops kissing him. He looks Dean over from head to toe before he lays his hand on his left shoulder, just shy of the star. “I want to put it here.”

“Alright.” He nods. It’s a good place, and Dean knows exactly where he wants to put his own mark on Cas. He knows it’s going to mess up where Cas puts his clan symbol, but that can be changed. Cas can put that anywhere he wants. Dean places his hand over Cas’s heart. “Right here.”

Because as much as Cas has his heart, he has Cas’s and he never wants to let it go.

**THE END**

 

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flowers and Stones
>
>> \- Celandine: joys to come  
> \- Peach Blossoms: long life, generosity, and bridal hope  
> \- Ivy: faithfulness  
> \- Almond blossoms: promise  
> \- Pearl (stone): promotes prosperity and success, encloses you with an aura of calm and beauty  
> \- Peridot (stone): undying love and admiration  
> \- Emerald (stone): hope  
> \- Berry Rose: I’ll love you forever  
> \- Sapphire (stone): “stone of destiny”, symbol of heaven and joyful devotion to God  
> \- Phlox: “our souls are united”


End file.
